The Guardian
by Asirus
Summary: AU season 4, NO SLASH: Dean Winchester did not believe in angels, so it would, eventually, come as a great surprise to him to find out that not only did angels exist, but one had been watching over him for his entire life.
1. Prologue: The Pit

_Okay... so here's me delving into a whole new fandom. It's a bit scary. I haven't posted anything in awhile, but I recently discovered Supernatural and plowed through all six seasons (and the ones that have aired from season seven) in like, two weeks. Complete Supernatural **Overdose**._

_On the plus side, it got my muse to dance. She started making me think about angels in season two. I have no idea how long this is going to be, or how often I'll update. I have a vague sort of outline, but no unalterable plans._

_I don't have a beta or anything (if you'd like to volunteer, by all means, send me a message) so feel free to point out any glaring grammatical or spelling errors, or in the canon. (I'm altering angel-canon a little bit to suit my needs, though.)_

_I suppose we'll call this an AU beginning with season 4, since we'll be starting in Hell. **Spoilers**, of course, but if you haven't watched the show already I don't know what you're doing here. Go watch!_

_Anyway, this will be mostly centered on Dean, branching off occasionally for heaven/angel stuff, cause I think that's neat. No pairings yet, and if any come along they will be canon, or at least based on the characters canon sexuality. (So** no slash,** unless maybe Crowley suddenly becomes a major character. Which I'm not planning for.)  
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_Standard disclaimer, etc etc, I own nothing except my OC (who will be introduced in chapter two, I think). I may also have to flesh out the population of Heaven a bit. It's a tad sparse on the show.  
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><p><em>"It's okay, baby. It's all okay. Angels are watching over you." -Mary Winchester<em>

Dean twisted the knife a little, feeling the handle slip against his palm, slick with blood. He was more or less deaf to the screaming, now, but he could feel the sickening sense of approval from Alastair watching somewhere behind him.

He knew the knife wasn't real. It was just a construct of Hell. A tool. The poor soul twisting on the rack was real, though. Dean didn't look at them anymore. He couldn't. It had been... _good_... at first, those first few souls. Satisfying. Sort of a sick payback for his thirty years. But he didn't look anymore. He'd lost track of how many souls he'd ripped apart... but he _hadn't_ lost track of how long he'd been here.

It was his fortieth anniversary tomorrow. Ten years since he'd cracked. Ten years since he'd broken under the personal attention of Hell's High Inquisitor and gotten up off the rack. Ten years since he'd taken the knife offered by the shapeless, grinning monster called Alastair. Ten years of torturing the souls of the damned.

But he didn't like to think about that. Refused to think about what he'd lost. What he'd willingly given up for his bro-

_No_, he didn't think about that either. His hand moved mechanically to pick up a different tool; a long, twisted blade with jagged edges and little hollow spirals filled with some hellish substance he couldn't name. He jabbed it almost delicately into the soul, forcing back the memories and focusing on not pissing off the demon at his back.

Alastair had been... edgy lately. More volatile. There was a slight disturbance behind him as another demon rushed into the vast, pitted chamber, and Dean hesitated, turning his head slightly as the two demons began an increasingly loud conversation.

Then,_ chaos._

Demons were shrieking, backing into the large room in a flood, and Alastair was bellowing orders as the smokey flames lining the walls flared up in response to his temper, contaminating the foul room with even more bloody red light.

The damned soul on the rack whimpered in something like relief at the reprieve, but Dean was already turning away, peering over his shoulder with long-unused curiosity as a fight spilled through the only doorway into the chamber.

Two... _beings_... were fighting the demons with swords made of pure white light. Dean stared in passive, shocked silence, as did the soul he'd been working on.

The male... _creature_... fought with strong, brutal strikes, his sword considerably larger and wielded with two hands. He looked tired, blood dripping down one side of his pale face from somewhere in his tousled light brown hair. Brilliantly blue eyes flashed with inner light as he cut down the demons one by one, enormous wings like inky shadows flexing and twitching in a constant counterbalance to his movements.

The second..._ whatever_... was female, and moved with quick, darting strikes, ducking gracefully around her companion like they could read each others thoughts, their movements in perfect sync. She too looked tired, but she was beautiful, with angular features and a squared jaw, pale eyes and smooth caramel skin. Long black hair was pulled back in thick ropey braids adorned with shiny beads and feathers, and flew out a bit as she danced through the melee with her slender, slightly curved blade. Her wings were white, like smoke given shape. She was also, Dean thought briefly before brutally shoving aside anything resembling memory, vaguely familiar.

As Dean watched passively, he saw Alastair dive, snarling, into the fight, and as one, the two beings took to the air of the vaulted room, soaring over the suddenly milling demons to land between Dean and the pack. They landed lightly and the woman turned back to the fight, holding her weapon out horizontally with her free hand braced on the blade; brilliantly white light burst forth, and the entire horde of demons drew back with howls and shrieks of rage and pain.

Dean's attention, though, was drawn to the male, who was approaching him with a curiously wide-eyed expression of determination. Dean flinched away, and the being paused, the long glowing sword disappearing and the massive wings curling in slightly.

And then he spoke in a voice that echoed strangely in the chamber, as large and _brilliant _and piercing as the winged-man himself.

"Dean Winchester, it is time to go from here," he said, coming to stand on Dean's left side and turning slightly to face back towards the woman, who was backing towards them while maintaining that steady stream of white light.

Dean opened his mouth, staring at the man, but he hadn't spoken in ten years, and closed it again without speaking. But then the man reached out with his right hand and clasped him by the shoulder, and it _burned burned burned_, and for the first time since he'd gotten up from the rack, Dean screamed in agony.

The woman glanced back, startled at the sound, but the light didn't falter, and through the burning pain coursing through him Dean realized that he and the man were rising into the air. The woman took a quick step towards the cowering demons and slashed with her sword once, and a wave of brilliant white flashed out, driving them further back.

She turned on her heel and took to the air after them, pale green eyes meeting Dean's pain-filled gaze and her enormous white wings flaring out to block out sight of the room, and then everything just _stopped. _Dean lost track of everything but the soft white light suddenly surrounding him, the burning agony fading as if he was submerged in cool, soothing water.

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><p><em>AN: So there's that. As you may have guessed, that there<strong> was<strong> in fact a glimpse of the OC. I promise to do my utmost not to mary-sue her. What do you think? Shall I go on?_


	2. Lazarus

_So I fussed with this for quite awhile (and watched this episode again of course). Not entirely sure if I'm satisfied, but it'll do. The next chapter is giving me considerably more grief, so expect a bit longer delay._

_Just so we're all clear, any large chunks of text (more than one or two words) in italics should be considered a flashback, dream, or, in some cases, the other side of a phone-call._

_EDIT: So I uploaded this like two days ago but apparently people couldn't actually see chapter two. If you're reading this, clearly I've fixed it with my fiddling about. Yay.  
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_I own nothing.  
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><p><em>"First words I heard, clear as a bell - "Dean Winchester is saved."" -Anna Milton<em>

Dean woke with a strangled, choking gasp, alone, in the dark, feeling extremely closed in. His mind was a bit jumbled; he couldn't remember how he got there, he couldn't remember how he got out of Hell. He was sure he was out, though... something about the tiny space he was in, some thought whispering in the back of his mind, made that quite clear.

He was _out. _He felt around, body moving on reflex as he tried to think of what happened, as he tried not to panic, and found his lighter in his pocket. Flicking it on, Dean found himself confined in a simple wooden coffin._  
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"Help," he tried, his voice coming out extremely hoarse. The effort of talking made him cough, and when he'd managed to control himself, he tried again. "Help! Help!" It was hot inside the coffin, the air was stale, and a bit thin, and Dean swallowed thickly, his mouth and throat uncomfortably dry. Even in the confined space, he knew his voice was far too quiet to hope for rescue.

It was while he was dragging himself up through damp earth, pulling himself out of his own grave, that he managed to remember something. Something strange. Something that didn't quite fit with the rest of his memories of his time in hell...

_The soothing white surrounding him shifted slightly, coming into focus, and Dean realized it was a pair of massive wings made of pure white smoke, curled protectively around him. There was a presence behind him, strangely familiar and comforting, and he was sure the wings came from there._

He inhaled raggedly as he broke the surface, muscles straining as he struggled to pull himself out of the dirt. Dean rolled over onto his back, closing his eyes against the sunlight streaming down, and lay there in the grass for a long moment, just breathing the sweet, hot summer air.

After catching his breath, he got up and looked around and stared at the apparent devastation surrounding his grave; there was a large ring of fallen trees surrounding the cross marking where he'd been buried, all pointing outward like some enormously powerful force had crashed down here. It was..._ not good_.

Squinting against the afternoon sun, Dean set off into the woods, not sure where he was or where he was going, but convinced he was going in the right direction. He was very careful not to think about his time in hell; he was good at that. He'd spent the better part of ten years down there _not thinking _about things. What the resurrected hunter_ did_ do, though, as he broke through the treeline and found a road, was pull off his over-shirt and tie it around his waist while carefully, selectively, trying to remember how he got out.

It was a lost cause, though. Aside from that one disjointed flash of white, there was nothing to tell him how he came to be topside again. He absently reached up, wanting to feel the cool metal of his amulet hanging from his neck, only to find it wasn't there. Dean frowned as he made his way down the road; he'd had it in Hell. It had been the one thing they never tried to take from him, for some reason. In the beginning, the amulet had been the thing that reminded him why he kept him saying no; towards the end, it was what cut into him with guilt those few times he let himself think about what he was doing.

But now it was gone. Dean considered it, as he shaded his eyes briefly, squinting ahead, and decided that it had probably never really been down with him. It was probably just a construct, like the kni-

Dean cut off that train of thought and focused on moving forward, looking around to try and figure out where he was. There were no landmarks to help him; just the road and the trees and the sun beaming down on his shoulders. His hands hurt from breaking through the thin pine of his coffin, and his shoulders ached from dragging himself up through six feet of dirt. But it was a good sort of pain. Human. Almost comforting in it's stinging normalcy. He could do without the thirst and the scratchy throat, though.

A building came into view just ahead, a gas station from the looks of it, and Dean picked up the pace a bit. With a bit of luck, there would be someone there who could tell him where the hell he was. Could tell him what year it was, for that matter...

.

...

.

The water was cool and soothing to his parched throat, and he finished half the bottle in one long pull before looking around the room, wondering where he was. A newspaper on a nearby rack informed him that he was in Pontiac, Illinois, and gave him the date. Four months. That's how long he'd been gone. "September," he whispered, managing not to flinch at the sound of his own voice, and he turned towards the sink he'd spotted against the far wall.

Dean rinsed some of the dirt off his face, patting it dry with the shirt he still hadn't put back on, and braced his hands on the sink, staring at his reflection in the mirror over the sink.

It was the first time he'd seen his own face in what, to him, felt like forty years. Dean stared at his reflection for a long moment before flinching as his memories tried to push forward again, all red light and red blood and endless,_ endless_ screaming. Pushing himself upright with a frown, Dean's eyes dropped to his chest, remembering instead how he'd died. _Hellhounds_. He'd certainly never look at a dog the same way again...

He lifted the black t-shirt he was wearing, curious, and was slightly shocked to see his chest was completely unblemished by what should have been horrific scarring at least. The motion triggered another twinge in his left shoulder. It had been bothering him, off and on, since he'd woken up in his own grave, so Dean let his shirt fall back into place and turned his left side towards the mirror before rolling up his sleeve.

There was a raised, reddish hand print there, like a burn. It_ stung_. Dean stared at it, his brows drawn down in a puzzled frown. This must be where whatever big-bad had ripped him out of hell had grabbed hold.

Easing the sleeve back down over the lightly stinging burn, Dean filed it away for later consideration. Right now, he had to find Sammy, and call Bobby; then they could figure out what happened.

Moving quickly through the gas station, Dean dumped a few bottles of water into a bag along with some snacks, feeling a bit more like himself as he flipped, smirking, through a copy of Busty Asian Beauties. He added it to his spoils and went to loot the register. It wasn't his typical sort of crime, but he hadn't exactly been buried with all his worldly possessions...

Dean was stuffing the bills into his pocket when the TV next to him turned on, displaying only static. He turned it off with a little frown, only to have the radio on his right snap on as well, country music wafting forth, followed by the TV clicking back on, its white noise competing with the radio. With an inward curse, Dean wasted no time in grabbing a carton of salt from a shelf and making his way to the closest window. Over the sound of the static and the music, a single, high-pitched tone rose slowly in volume, distracting the seasoned hunter, and he threw a look over his shoulder before resuming his attempt to line the window.

It got loud fast, though, and Dean dropped the salt, and fell into a crouch, hands pressed desperately against his ears; through the noise, he got the strange, nagging feeling that he'd heard the sound before. He ignored the feeling, focusing instead of diving for cover as every bit of glass in the place suddenly burst. Besides, he'd definitely remember if he'd heard a sound like_ that _before.

But that nagging feeling stayed with him, even as the piercing tone faded as suddenly as it had come. Dean got up carefully, wincing at the cuts now decorating the arm he'd landed on, and retrieved his bag of water and snacks. He picked a few small slivers of glass from his forearm as he made his way back outside, carefully shaking the glass out of his hair and off his shirt, and ducked into the phone booth. He had calls to make.

Sam's number had been disconnected, so Dean tried Bobby next. It rang once before being picked up.

_"Yeah?"_

"Bobby?"

_"Yeah."_

"It's me," he said, not really caring at the moment how strange this would seem.

_"Who's 'me'?"_

"It's Dean."

A click answered this statement, and inwardly Dean thought he really shouldn't be surprised. He called again, dropping another stolen quarter into the slot. The first ring barely had time to finish before Bobby's voice cut in, demanding, _"Who is this?"_

"Bobby, listen to me," tried Dean, only to be interrupted by an extremely irate and cold sounding Bobby.

_"This ain't funny. Call again and I'll kill you."_ Dean looked at the phone as the sharp click of being hung up on again echoed in his ear, and suddenly got the irresistible urge to look behind him. Sitting there in the sun as if it was waiting for him was a slightly beat-up, dusty, white Mercury Monterey. After a second of thought, Dean grabbed his plastic bag and made his way over with a determined expression. If Bobby wouldn't talk to him on the phone, he'd just have to show up on his doorstep.

He'd found the highway easily enough, and drove in silence. As much as he'd like some music to drown out his thoughts, there wasn't much he could do with a busted radio. Instead, Dean focused on driving, ignoring the twinging from his burnt shoulder and the way bloody-red memories kept trying to distract him. Dean had been on the road for about twenty minutes, thoughts growing steadily darker as he failed to distract himself from his time in hell, when something changed. A flash of light from the setting sun off the side mirror hit his eyes, and he found his thoughts turning away from his forty years and towards that strange flash of white. He didn't know what it was, and he still had no idea how he was alive, but for some reason, that whiteness, those... those _wings_, made it easier to think without drowning in guilt. Easier to focus on the task at hand.

Dean didn't find the silence quite so stifling, after that, and made it to Bobby's just after sunrise the next morning, a bit tired, but confident he'd be able to convince the old man that he was himself.

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><p><em>AN: There's chapter one. Please let me know what you think. I had totally forgotten how stupidly giddy I get when I see a review alert. (Thanks to Tillyputian for reminding me. :P) As I said though, chapter two is giving me some grief, mostly because we're going to be visiting heaven and there's not a whole lot to draw on from canon for that. Oh well, I'll manage.<em>

_For anyone wondering about that last line... Dean was buried in Pontiac, Illinois, and Singer Salvage is in Sioux Falls, South Dakota. Google maps tells me it's a nine hour drive. I figure, the shadows are looking a bit long when he peels out of the gas station, and it's clearly sunny when he gets to Bobby's place. Early early morning was the only thing that really made sense._


	3. Convalescence

_Sorry for the delay guys. First, there was trying to decide on the OC's name (thanks for the help, Wikipedia), then trying to figure out the proper tone for this chapter. I had like, four different files with possible chapter angles and a fifth which mashed them together and blah blah blah. Let's just leave it at "this chapter was a bitch," shall we?_

_So here we're going to be exploring Heaven a bit, and a large chunk of this is going to be essentially introducing you to the OC. I hope you don't hate her. I also got a bit wordy while fleshing out my heavenly head-canon. Hope you don't mind too terribly.  
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_Standard disclaimer, Supernatural and all that entails belongs to not-me, etc etc._

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><p><em>"Dean, do you know how many angels have actually seen God? Seen his face?" - Anna Milton<em>

The call, when it came, was something of a surprise. Most of the Host had thought that the siege on Hell had failed. Those angels who had returned over the past four months, too tired and wounded to continue, spoke of horrors unseen since the First War. Spoke of seeing brothers and sisters cut down by demons and hell spawn. _Dead angels_, lost forever, in numbers that would have made the stoic warriors of Heaven weep, if they could remember how.

Not since the First War had so many angels been slain...

So, when two voices were heard as they came spiraling out of the Pit, two voices of angels thought lost, crying out, "_Dean Winchester is saved_," the Host took up the call. It echoed from angel to angel, a multitude of voices crying out as one, repeating the cry until it echoed between the very stars.

There was joy once more in Heaven, then, as the pair of victorious angels returned, the brilliantly shining soul of the Righteous Man cradled between them. Joy was a surprisingly unfamiliar feeling for the Host. Only cupids and the garrison of guardian angels ever touched on what was considered 'human emotion,' so the joyful tumult was tinged with confusion for almost every angel in Heaven. Still, they embraced the brief moment when they could be like children, when the rank-and-file broke down, to rejoice at the return of a lost brother and sister.

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><p>Ariel was tired. If she was occupying her vessel, she could have said she was <em>bone-tired<em>, but angels don't have bones. They are energy, given shape by a combination of their own will and the will of the Father that made them. So imagine, for a moment, the events that would have to occur for pure energy to be_ tired_.

She had separated from her brother and drifted into the Garden with the soul they'd rescued from the Pit. She was tired, Castiel, she knew, was tired, and the soul was, for lack of a better term, asleep. The Host was shouting, echoing the call she and Castiel had sent out the very instant they'd escaped from the Pit; the chorus echoed across Heaven as every angel took it up, voices raised together for the first time since before the First War. The words swelled, not quite a song, but close enough, bursting out of Heaven to skip between stars, and it served as a welcome distraction from her rising guilt as she did what she could to mend the soul in her care.

Ariel peered at the soul of Dean Winchester, cradled carefully before her in the circle of her wings, and as the surprised_ (and joyful) _shouting of her brothers and sisters began to quiet, the guilt she'd been ignoring - for four months going on forty years - began to creep back.

She was_ supposed_ to be the first among Guardians, and yet, she'd allowed not one, but two of her charges to make deals with demons in rapid succession, to fall into the Pit. She had failed the task given to her by her Father, through Joshua, just after the First War, and because of her negligence, the First Seal had been broken. Failed rather completely.

_"Protect the bloodlines," Joshua said, and Ariel's eyes went wide at the sudden choral effect of a second voice overlaying that of her brother. Their Father's voice. She had accepted the task before the her elder brother had even registered the second voice, his own eyes widening slightly; they both knew that this would likely be the last time she would ever hear the voice of God._

Ariel studied the slowly waking human soul as the angelic chorus finally faded into a dim murmur. He'd been in agony when she'd pushed back the demons a final time and taken off after Castiel; her brother's touch had_ burned _him, and the soul, still stubbornly wearing the shape of his mortal form, now bore a vivid red hand print on his left shoulder.

The angel did what she could to mend the wounds on this shining little human soul, ignoring her exhaustion in favor of soothing her guilt; aside from the hand print, which she rather deliberately left alone, he was almost entirely whole, now, though the scars would take time to fade, if they ever did. That part would be up to Dean. She flexed her tired wings, and Dean gave a little start, more conscious of his surroundings then she'd realized. He turned in the circle of her wings and blinked at her, his mouth working like he wanted to speak. He hadn't spoken when they'd come upon him in the Pit, though. Hadn't made a sound, except to scream as Castiel's touch burned the stain of Hell from him.

Even though he wouldn't remember any of this, she smiled at his startled expression and murmured, "Hello, Dean."

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><p>Castiel looked over the vessel, the<em> body<em>, one last time. It had been buried beneath the earth for four months, but despite the fact that the wounds had been caused by hellhounds, it wasn't anything he couldn't repair. Healing had always come rather easily to him, and his sister had implied, perhaps unintentionally, that his proficiency came from the Time Before. How she could know that, though, was a mystery he didn't have time to puzzle out just now.

Instead, the angel turned his thoughts to the soul left behind in Ariel's tender care. It had been... _damaged_... when they found it in the Pit. Flayed and raw. Sick with Hell's darkness. Castiel had wondered how this broken, bleeding soul could possibly be the Dean Winchester they'd been commanded to retrieve, how it could be the servant of heaven, the Righteous Man. But Ariel had been quite sure, and if anyone could pick a single, chosen soul out of a multitude, it was a guardian...

But then the sickly black had burned away when he'd touched him, and for a brief moment Castiel had wondered if they were too late, if the soul was irredeemable. _Demons_ burned at the touch of an angel, after all. But Dean hadn't burned away like a demon, so Castiel did what they had come to do, and lifted him up. His sister had flown after them, and the soul had stopped screaming as the two angels flew him out of Hell.

Castiel, satisfied that all was ready, traveled to his sister where she waited in the Garden. The soul, amazingly, had brightened to almost blinding. In the Pit, it had been a dim, sickly thing, but now it _burned_ with light. He studied the unfettered soul of the Righteous Man for a long moment, and wondered if it shone so because his touch had burned away the darkness, or if it was due to the time spent with Ariel while he'd been restoring the vessel. Or perhaps the brilliance was just the natural state of this soul, of Dean Winchester.

Ariel made a little sound, then, and he looked at her over the slumbering soul. She was watching him with a strange, amused yet almost wistful expression.

"He was awake for a time," she said quietly, and the soul compressed down into a shining ball of energy as she carefully handed him over. "He won't remember," mused Castiel, and she nodded, looking as tired as he felt.

Castiel turned to go, and she added in a strange tone, "Meet me, after you report in with your garrison." The soldier eyed her for a moment, curious, then nodded his agreement; they weren't in the same garrison, but she was of much higher rank then he. If she wanted to meet, they would meet. "I will."

His return to the clearing where the vessel had been buried was quiet, trees towering in a wide circle, standing like sentinels in the brilliant sunlight. Purple flowers grew here and there in the tall grass, and Castiel sank down through the earth, loosening it unconsciously. He stretched out both hands, cradling the soul, and, with a careful twist, settled it into place. He startled slightly as a burn formed on the left shoulder. A hand print. _His _hand print.

Castiel was only vaguely aware of the explosion that leveled the trees around the small clearing as he flared out his power, inducing Dean Winchester to take his first breath, still buried six feet down. He left, then, flying to home to report his success. As he flew, he realized that the Host was still echoing with the call, though much quieter then before. Dean Winchester is saved, they said, so softly, repeating it like a prayer to their absent Father.

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><p>She drifted, tired wings keeping her aloft with little effort over the expansive heaven of her vessel. She had already checked in with her garrison, who, of course, had been overjoyed to see her. They'd thought her dead. A perfectly reasonable assumption, considering they'd lost nearly a third of their number in the siege. Elijah, her second-in-command had, in her absence, managed to reassign those that remained - and the injured who had returned - so all the bloodlines they were tasked to protect were still being watched. There had thankfully only been a few problems needing her attention, though one in particular troubled her.<p>

_"There's another problem," Elijah said as they watched the rest of the garrison fly off to their charges looking both happy and troubled. Happy that Ariel was alive and well... troubled that it was, apparently, the End of Days._

_Ariel turned her attention from the earth for a moment, where she'd been watching Dean, and studied her brother. "What problem?" she asked, suspecting the answer already._

_"Sam Winchester."_

_She shut her eyes in resignation and then turned back to watch over the elder Winchester brother. She had been aware of the... problem... before she'd joined the siege of Hell, but something had changed while she was gone; it was worse, now, she knew. Much worse._

_ "Do you know the cause?" Her tone was hopeful, though she didn't really think her garrison had been able to uncover the secret she'd spent years trying to find in the four chaotic months she'd been gone._

_"No, but the... worsening... we think is because of the company he's been keeping. A demon."_

_Ariel snapped her eyes back up to her second, fury and guilt filling her up, and Elijah flinched at her expression. "Sam is keeping company with a demon," she repeated flatly, wishing fervently that she'd been able - been **allowed,** for that matter - to solve this problem years ago. "Yes. Named Ruby. We haven't been able to watch him properly. Whatever she's doing... whatever **he** is doing... it's making what Azazel did much** much** worse," he answered smoothly, knowing Ariel's anger wasn't directed at him. Below, Dean was looting a run-down gas station and discovering the hand print on his shoulder._

_"Perhaps Dean can help us figure out this problem," she said, forcing down her rage at the idea of a demon anywhere near one of her charges._

Now, she was waiting for Castiel. It had been nostalgia that made her reach out to her brother before he could retreat back into the role of soldier. In the time before the First War, they had been close. They'd played together. They'd learned to fly on the same day, both managing the challenging task with an ease that had their teacher calling them his 'little prodigies'. They'd raced between new stars together and had mock battles under another teachers watchful eye.

They'd been, in hindsight, rather like Dean and Sam Winchester. A team. The First War brought that to and end, though. The first true casualty of the War had been the innocence of angels. They couldn't afford to be children any longer. They had to be warriors, they had to slay their brothers and sisters to protect their home against their most beloved brother gone mad.

The Host called their childhood the Time Before, now. Only guardians and, to a lesser extent, cupids, remembered. Ariel suspected that Michael and Raphael remembered as well, but if they did they never spoke of it. The archangels ruling Heaven in their Father's absence took it as a gift, this destruction of memory. And Ariel could understand why, though she hated it. They'd been_ losing_. The War had been _destroying_ those angels who remained loyal to their Father. They were heartsick with the fighting. They were_ dying_.

Then everything changed, and almost every angel suddenly couldn't remember what they had been. They remembered their lessons, they remembered how to fight and fly and heal. But the fourth lesson, the most important one in Ariel's opinion, had been wiped away. The tide had turned, then. The Host, now arranged into garrisons, was still sad about the fighting, but not so broken that they couldn't do it. That was when Lucifer had started making his demons, of course. To bolster his suddenly falling numbers.

And _that_, the creation of Lilith and the rest, was the trigger that banded together those who remembered_ everything_ into a single garrison with Ariel at it's head. They_ remembered_ their Father, remembered his love and his face and his presence, and, more importantly they remembered what had made Lucifer turn against them.

God's love of his newest children. The humans, fragile mortal vessels, dirty, brutal, and savage and, somehow, so beautiful. They were like animals, but yet they practically burst with the radiant energy that was so very similar to angels. Their Father had called it a soul. A sliver of grace packed in a fragile mortal shell. He'd told the Host to love them, these shining new creatures, explained what would happen to the souls when they died. They would come to live forever in Heaven.

Those who remembered, those who became guardians, were, universally, those who had accepted this request without question or hesitation. Their Father had told them to love the humans, so they did. They marveled at their strange complexity, at their savagery and their brilliance, and fell a little bit in love. Ariel suspected that her garrison would have loved humanity even if they hadn't been told to, but she'd never know for sure. Then the War happened. Lucifer_ refused_, and set fire to Heaven in his war against God and those who did not agree with him.

Castiel appeared at her side, then, massive shadowy wings beating tiredly, and her thoughts returned to the present.

"I did not expect the burn to transfer," he said, following her gaze down to where Dean Winchester was driving a battered white car down the highway towards the setting sun.

"I thought it might," she admitted, finally pulling her eyes away to regard the tired soldier drifting with her. He had shed his assumed form just as she had, and looked slightly better rested then before. "You look... tired," he said with a frown, and Ariel got the impression that 'tired' was not the word he wanted to use. She rather suddenly missed her brother, even though he was hovering right there next to her.

She ignored the feeling and instead said, "I _am_ tired." He was still watching her, and she opened her mouth to fill the silence, but then a little pull distracted her. Immediately her attention was back on the earth, back on the dusty white car, back on Dean Winchester. He was_ drowning_ even as he drove. Forgetting for a moment that she was being watched, she reached out and tried to divert her charge from his destructive, inwardly spiraling thoughts. It took almost no effort. It was so much_ easier_ then it used to be, to influence him. His thoughts turned away from the horrors of the Pit, and she realized then that he'd somehow retained a brief glimpse of Heaven.

Ariel smiled ruefully, impressed as always by Dean and his stubborn resolve. She blinked, then, suddenly aware of the intense, curious gaze of her little brother; the expression was so familiar that she was making a face at him before she remembered that he _didn't_. Remember, that is.

Castiel stared at the guardian, strangely at ease despite her unusual behavior. Despite the fact that they'd spent almost the entire siege of Hell together, they hadn't exactly had much time to converse. When they did have time, their interactions were almost entirely relating to the mission at hand. He'd never seen a guardian at work, before the siege. In the Pit, the guardians had served as guides, unerringly pointing the way through the blood and fire of Hell to the one soul they were after. Now, he was quite sure he'd just seen her affect Dean without even moving. How did she know he even needed soothing, and how did she manage it at such a range? It was fascinating.

She must have sensed his questions, because she said, "That was easier then it used to be. He's more receptive. Silver-lining, I suppose..."

"I don't understand."

Ariel smiled a bit and glanced down, eyes unfocused as she watched over the human they'd lifted out of Hell. "Humans have a saying," she explained, "That goes, 'every cloud has a silver lining.' They mean that it is always possible to get something positive out of a situation, no matter how unpleasant, difficult or even painful it might seem."

Castiel considered this for a long moment, then asked, "What does that have to do with clouds?"

"Nothing at all," Ariel said, laughing, the melodic sound drifting across the expansive meadow they drifted over. He wasn't sure why they were flying. He was tired, and he was sure Ariel was tired... yet still, she flew instead of resting. It was strange.

They hovered together for a time, already mostly recovered from their four decades of fighting in the Pit, and then Ariel said, "He'll probably try to kill you, at first."

"Who?" he asked, confused.

"Dean. He'll eventually try to summon whatever got him out of the Pit," she said, eyes flashing back to Castiel as he frowned thoughtfully, recognizing that any such summoning would call him.

"And he will try to kill me. Why?"

"Because he will believe you are some sort of evil. He doesn't believe in angels. Or Father."

Castiel blinked, a sliver of shock running through him at this revelation. The Righteous Man did not believe? How was that possible...?

Again, as if sensing his questions _(and perhaps she did) _Ariel continued, "He is stubborn, and headstrong. A man of action. But he has no faith in himself, in his own worth. His time in the Pit will have reinforced this. Only after he finds that he has no way to dispatch you will he resort to conversation. He will want to know what you are. He probably won't believe you when you tell him. He will want to know why you saved him..."

Ariel sounded sad, and Castiel eyed his sister curiously; like all guardians, she was, at times, startlingly emotional. In the Pit, it hadn't been as obvious as it was now. The task had consumed every moment, leaving no time for more than small glimmers of fear or anger or worry to slip through her impassive mask.

The mask was off now, he realized, and she gazed down at her charge with an aura of melancholy that Castiel could_ feel_. It seemed to tint the air itself, but then Ariel shifted, wings flexing as if she was shrugging off some great weight, and the air cleared. She smiled wryly at him, and Castiel thought he saw a secret, hiding there behind her eyes, before she looked away, back towards the earthly garden below.

Feeling more curious then he could remember feeling in his entire life, Castiel asked, "How does it work?"

Ariel shot him a quick look, and he was glad he'd remained slightly vague in his question; she'd made it clear while they were together in the Pit that the bond between her garrison and humanity was not well known to the Host. Guardians were outcast enough for their strangeness without adding an actual bond with humans. There were those who would likely seek to sever such a connection, those who did not see the beauty in God's youngest children despite their Father's last orders.

"It is... complex..." she said after a moment, eyes focused once again on Dean. "He doesn't hear me when I speak to him. Not really. My words give him the idea, and then he can follow my guidance. Or not. It used to be more difficult to get through to him, though..."

Castiel gave this some consideration, then, remembering one of the brief, whispered conversations they'd managed in the Pit, said, "You said he could see you when he was young."

She nodded, a sad sort of smile on her face, and said, "When he was very young, before Azazel killed his mother, he could see me, hear my true voice. His mother used to tell him 'angels are watching over you,' when it was time for him to sleep."

Castiel was surprised, and peered down at the mortal speeding along the now dark highway in a stolen car. From here, he couldn't see Dean as clearly as he suspected Ariel could. "You said he had no faith." His tone was mild and curious, seeking to connect two, seemingly contradictory statements from his sister. It should be impossible for a faithless man to hear the true voice of an angel, to see their true form.

"He doesn't. Azazel stole it when he stole Mary Winchester from their lives," came the rather sour reply, and Castiel again found himself studying Ariel. He didn't often interact with guardians; they were very strange, too emotional, with their own task that didn't quite mesh with the rest of the heavenly army, but something about Ariel was eerily familiar. Like he knew her better then he was aware.

She caught him watching her, and when she looked up something flashed across her expression before her properly angelic mask slid into place. Castiel couldn't place it, and before he could ask, she said, "You should probably begin communicating with your True Vessel. You'll need him soon enough."

.

...

.

Ariel told him where to go _(having gotten the location from Elijah)_, and Castiel left her to contact his True Vessel, a good, devout man named James Novac. Ariel flew almost languidly over the heaven of her own True Vessel, eyes fixed on the Earth, though she wasn't really paying attention to Dean at the moment. He'd arrived at the home of Bobby Singer. He would be safe there, having convinced the elder hunter of his identity.

No, instead, Ariel was thinking of happier times...

_Ariel stared up past her teacher, one of her big brothers, in awe; Gabriel grinned down at her and her siblings where they sat on a strange field of vibrant green under the swirling stars. He was explaining the lesson, but she wasn't listening. Instead, the child-like angel was staring at the sky. Gabriel motioned for them to get up, then, and, in an amused tone, suggested they all give it a try. He sounded to her like he didn't expect success, which she thought made sense. After all, none of them had ever flown before._

_Ariel stood up first and tentatively stretched out her wings, noting, but not really understanding, the surprised look on Gabriel's face as they extended fully. They felt too large, but she knew how to use them. She just **knew**. With a euphoric giggle, she took to the air, earning startled and cheering laughter from the few dozen other young angels below. Gabriel was beaming at her, looking extremely pleased as she turned gracefully in the air and swooped back down, and she felt herself brightening under his murmured praise._

_She didn't want to fly alone, though, so she hovered carefully over her siblings and beckoned them. One of her brothers, just barely younger then her, stared up and stretched out shadowy wings, and Ariel realized that her brother had wings just as over-sized as she did. Castiel didn't rise as quickly as she had, but he caught up quickly and within moments, the two little angels were dancing over the field under Gabriel's watchful eye._

_None of their other siblings managed to get into the air **that** lesson, but soon enough the entire group was racing between stars; Castiel and Ariel, though, had earned a place among Gabriel's favorites, and as they grew they found themselves often racing with the archangel. They always lost, of course, except those times he let them win. **Nobody** was faster then Gabriel. But it was fun, and when they raced their elder brother, their Father's presence was always particularly strong._

* * *

><p><em>AN: Well there it is. Not sure when the next bit is going to be ready, but it'll hopefully be faster then this one. We'll be back on earth for the most part, with Cas and Dean and useless 'art projects.' <em>

_Here's some explanation for a couple of terms I used (from my head-canon) if anyone wants clarification._

_**First War**: This one is a bit obvious - The War in heaven where Lucifer rebelled against God, turning angel against angel. A third of the Host fell in behind Lucifer._

_**Time Before**: Less obvious - Before the First War when angels remembered their Father, were family, rather then an army. *Something happened around the middle of the war to change things, and except for Guardians and, to a lesser extent, cupids, all angels lost their memories._

_**True Vessel**: I think someone, Lucifer or Michael maybe, used the term in the show at some point but I could be wrong. Anyway, my thinking is there's a vessel, and then there's a (True) Vessel, the difference being like the difference between Nick and Sam for Lucifer. An angel like Cas could occupy, say, Jimmy's daughter, but it wouldn't be as good a fit as Jimmy. Being in their True Vessel rather then just anyone makes them a little bit stronger, faster, more powerful. Like they can use more of their angel-mojo than if they were in a less ideal vessel.  
><em>

_*the 'something' will be explained eventually._


	4. Confrontations

_So we're going to be skipping around in perspective a bit here, I hope it's not too confusing. There are certain (awesome) scenes from the show that I'll transcribe and convert into text from time to time, but for the most part I'm going to be trying to cover stuff that wasn't in the show. Probably.  
><em>

_Standard disclaimer, Supernatural and all that entails belongs to not-me, etc etc._

* * *

><p><em>"It all says an angel can snatch a soul from the pit." -Bobby Singer<em>

She watched in silence as her underlings bickered. They were nervous, almost panicked. And worse, the meeting with the Winchesters earlier that day had not gone well. The dim light in the kitchen of the diner gleamed dully off the name tag on her meatsuit as she shifted her weight. Flo, it said.

The demon ignored the others, instead trying to figure out what could have dragged a worthless soul up from the Pit. There were rumors filtering up, now, of something that had cut a swathe through Hell, right up to Alastair's doorstep, and _stole _Dean Winchester right out from under his nose. What could steal a soul from Hell? What could thwart _Alastair_?

Suddenly, the argument fell quiet. They _all _fell quiet, and 'Flo' stiffened. Something was there. Outside the diner. Something... strong. The others looked at her and she snarled, "Go see what it is."

They hesitated, looking like they wanted to disobey, but she was in charge for a reason. She was stronger then all of them. They filtered in to the front, moving around the counter, wary, while she stayed back, peering cautiously in from the kitchen.

And then, without warning, the... the _thing_... wasn't outside anymore. The flash of pure white made her flinch back, ducking behind the dividing wall even as her minions started screaming. There was the sounds of fighting, of demons in meatsuits hitting the ground sobbing, screaming, and scrambling back to their feet. She would have stayed hidden, but the way the agonized screaming kept getting cut off made her sneak a peak.

The instant before her eyes_ (both the eyes of her meatsuit, and her real eyes) _burned away seemed to stretch out forever. In that forever instant, she _saw _it. Her, really, because the figure was undeniably feminine without any real defining features. She was _made _of light, and burning bright in the diner, filling it with pure, blue-white light. She had _wings_. Enormous, over-sized wings that were too big for the rest of her. They were soft white, like smoke shaped into feathers, and she gave off the impression of being... compressed. Like she was actually much larger, too big for the room, and had pressed herself down to a more appropriate size. Human size; the too-big wings moved and shifted, only partially unfurled in the small space.

And she was _killing _the others. Not just exorcising them, not sending them back to the Pit. _Killing them_. Burning them alive with a touch of her hand. And in that long, burning instant, one thing became crystal clear. More then anything else, she... the thing, the being of light... was _angry_. Furious. At the demons. Maybe at _all _demons. It was terrifying, this cold white rage.

'Flo' ducked back behind the wall, hands clasped to her mouth to stifle the scream as blood ran down from her burned-out eyes and her mind snapped more then a little. She began to pray to her Lord Father in Hell, praying to Lucifer in a way she hadn't ever before. Praying for help, praying that the monster in the front of the diner wouldn't find her, wouldn't kill her too, wouldn't burn her alive. Because she'd been burned alive, before. Every demon had been burned alive once or twice, even those out front, and they'd never screamed like they had when _she _had burned them. They'd never _died_.

She sat there, hands pressed to her mouth and empty, bleeding, empty eyes wide as she prayed silently to a Father she'd never known, a Father that didn't answer. It wasn't until much later, when the younger Winchester brother came in stinking of soul, that she realized that the _other_, the being, was gone.

* * *

><p>Castiel shoved the demon back with a surge of power, using his greater size to advantage; it burned away with a pitiful sort of whimper, the empty vessel collapsing onto the sand. The demons up top were nothing compared to what he and Ariel had faced in the Pit. They were weak. They didn't know how to deal with an angel outside of a vessel. Around him, his garrison was fighting together in a strange mix of those with vessels and those without. Those with vessels fought <em>differently<em>. They were more physical, for one. More careful, too. As if they didn't want to damage the bodies they wore, as if they couldn't just mend the body should it be injured. Castiel forgot, sometimes, that not all angels were quite as adept at healing as he was.

He had felt the summoning some time ago, but it had no real power to compel him. And anyway, he was busy. Small scale fighting had begun to erupt as Lilith, somehow hearing of Dean's resurrection, began her assault on the seals. Ariel and her garrison, he knew, were engaged in several small fights across the globe as bloodlines and seals came too close together for comfort, and Castiel's own garrison was engaged in some heavy fighting in Egypt.

And Jimmy wasn't quite ready. Not yet. Soon, though. Within the hour, he was sure.

* * *

><p>Ariel had reclaimed her vessel from where she'd stored it in Heaven for the past four months just after she had dealt with the diner. It was... comfortable. It had been hers for over eight-hundred years, after all, the human soul giving her acceptance mere minutes before death. She, the soul, was in heaven now. They talked occasionally, rather like friends would, and Ariel would let the soul braid her hair, styling it like it had been when she was alive.<p>

She leaned aside from a blow and swung back with her free hand _(her left, a long silvery sword in her right), _palm striking the possessed human in the forehead with her long fingers curled over the crown of his head. The demon in him burned away with an agonized scream, and the shell, the vessel, collapsed in a heap. Ariel would have liked to check on the no-longer-possessed humans, but there just wasn't time. Demons were assaulting a seal that just happened to reside rather close _(too close) _to a family that was all that was left of one of the bloodlines.

The guardian was aware of her garrison keeping one eye on her, even as they skirmished with the demons. She was... not _scaring _them... alarming them, maybe. Her garrison, her brothers and sisters, were quite _clearly _alarmed by the ferocity she was exhibiting against the demons. The rage. They didn't question it, though. They didn't doubt her. They were perfectly aware, after all, that she had only just returned from the Siege. Had only just come flying out of the Pit after forty years with a single brother and the Righteous Man.

But the garrison watched, and every so often, between fights, she would pause, the eyes of her vessel going distant. Her brothers and sisters knew she was checking on the Righteous Man. Checking on Dean Winchester. If she had been a slightly paranoid sort of guardian _before _the Pit, it was nothing on her behavior now. It was as if she thought that the second she turned away from her charge, demons would rush up from Hell to reclaim him.

It wasn't exactly an unfathomable thought. Dean was hunter, after all. He went _looking _for demons and monsters and all manner of things that wanted to kill, eat, maim or otherwise destroy him. _The idiot._

* * *

><p>Castiel heard the prayers of Jimmy Novac, <em>felt <em>them right down in the core of him. It was a strange experience, this calling out of his ideal vessel, his 'True Vessel,' as Ariel had called him. When Castiel came upon him, answering the call, Jimmy was standing out in front of his home, gazing somewhat desperately up at the sky.

He realized only then that the shape he'd assumed in the Pit was Jimmy's shape. That was curious. Ariel had never commented on it, though she must have known.

Sliding into _this _vessel was different than before, though if it was because humans had changed in two-thousand years or if it was because of _Jimmy_, Castiel couldn't say. It was... comfortable. Easy. He felt stronger, faster. But strange. Castiel felt Jimmy subside, felt him fall into slumber in the back of his mind, and he felt himself sink further into the vessel before deciding to try out movement; he gazed thoughtfully at his right hand as he lifted it, and his attention turned to Dean Winchester. It was time to meet again, face to face.

Flying was surprisingly simple, in this vessel. He remembered it being slightly cumbersome, the last time he'd walked the earth. Like the flesh was weighing him down. _This _was effortless. He landed some distance away from a large, slightly ramshackle barn, the doors barred against him and stars blazing overhead. Inside was Dean Winchester, and another, older hunter. Backup, perhaps. Smart, to not attempt a summoning alone.

Castiel walked forward, still getting used to his fleshy confines, and the flimsy roof of the structure began to rattle; the doors slowly cracked inward, the beam holding them shut splitting as he briefly lifted a hand and willed it to do so. The warrior of Heaven moved forward and the lights overhead burst as he passed, showering him with sparks; he'd have to learn to contain that reaction, learn to reel in his power. It wouldn't do to announce his presence in such a showy manner everywhere he went.

He looked around curiously, taking in the extremely vast array of wards and talismans they'd painted on the walls and floor. They had prepared well, if inadequately; Castiel turned his full attention back to the pair of hunters as salt and iron suddenly peppered his vessel. Silver came next, but it too did nothing.

Castiel strode forward, and blue eyes fixed on Dean Winchester, his expression turning curious as the human grabbed up a demon-killing blade and asked, "Who are you?"

He stopped walking, then, not far away and ignoring the holes riddling his newly occupied vessel. "I'm the one who gripped you tight and raised you from perdition."

His voice sounded strange to him, coming through human vocal cords. It was different than Jimmy's voice. Deeper. Rougher. Castiel's inward musing was cut off by the man in front of him.

"Yeah... Thanks for that," said Dean, and then, strangely, he stabbed him in the chest with a knife that killed demons . Castiel was not quite surprised, however. After all, he had been warned about this sort of behavior. Dean shifted back, looking surprised_ (alarmed) _by the lack of reaction, and Castiel lifted a hand and casually pulled out the blade, dropping it to the floor. The older man behind him stepped up then, swinging iron, and Castiel caught the weapon one-handed, without looking, and turned him with the bar before putting him to sleep with a touch of his fingers.

This meeting would go better without a third voice, he thought. It was kind of Ariel to step out, for this, though he could almost _feel _her eyes watching carefully from rather far away. He wondered if Dean could feel his guardian watching over him, or if the sensation was so familiar that the hunter didn't even register it...

"We need to talk, Dean," he said after watching the one called Bobby collapse and not at all aware of the vaguely endearing look on the face of his vessel. "Alone."

Dean didn't answer right away, so he moved back to flip through one of the books piled on the table, curious about what they'd been researching before summoning him with only a name to go on. The human dropped down to check on his friend, and Castiel could feel eyes glaring at him so he said, "Your friend's alive."

"Who are you?"

"Castiel."

"Yeah, I figured that much. I mean what are you?"

Castiel looked up from the book he was leafing through, and said, "I'm an angel of the Lord."

Dean stared for a moment, looking doubtful, before slowly standing.

"Get the hell out of here. There's no such thing."

Castiel turned and took a few small steps closer to the eldest Winchester. "This is your problem, Dean. You have no faith." If he hadn't been sure of Ariel's conviction before, he was now. The lack of belief was glaringly obvious to him, though Castiel felt that the man's faith wasn't dead... just... broken. It could, perhaps, be mended. Before Dean could spit his doubt at him further, there was a crack of thunder and white light illuminated the angel. Enormous, shadowy wings were thrown into sharp relief, casting their shadows on the walls behind him.

There was a brief, tense silence when they faded again, the light returning to normal.

"Some angel you are... You burned out that poor woman's eyes."

Castiel looked down, looking_ (and feeling) _regretful. He had tried to stop her, and he'd been able to hear Ariel trying to get _Dean _to stop her, but they'd both failed. He tried to explain.

"I warned her not to spy on my true form. It can be... overwhelming to humans. And so can my real voice, but you already knew that."

"You mean the gas station and the motel," said Dean. It was a question, but it also wasn't one, so Castiel only nodded slightly. "That was you talking? Buddy, next time lower the volume."

Castiel glanced down again, then looked up with wide eyes. It had been Ariel's long-ago words to him in the Pit that made him try speaking to Dean without a vessel. It wasn't until after his first attempt that she'd explained the man's faithlessness. The second attempt had been... a mistake. "That was my mistake. Certain people, special people, can perceive my true visage. I thought you would be one of them. I was wrong."

Dean made a bit of a face, then bit out, "And what visage are you in now? Holy tax accountant?"

"This?" Castiel was slightly taken aback by the question. "This is a vessel."

"You're possessing some poor bastard?"

"He is a devout man, he actually prayed for this," retorted Castiel, only slightly aware of the elder Winchester's rising anger. It was curious. The Righteous Man was more volatile then he'd anticipated.

"Look pal, I'm not buying what you're selling, so who are you really?"

Castiel looked both surprised and disappointed, and said, "I told you."

"Right," replied Dean, his tone sharpening. "And why would an 'angel' rescue me from hell?"

The angel moved closer, his expression changing slightly as he considered Ariel's words when they'd been resting _(flying) _after restoring Dean. "Good things do happen, Dean..."

"Not in my experience."

Castiel peered into the man before him, expression turning sad and concerned as the truth of his sister's words became even clearer. "She was right, I see. You don't think you deserve to be saved..."

Dean's expression shifted, tensed, but instead of acknowledging the truth in the statement or questioning who 'she' was, he asked, "Why'd you do it?"

Castiel's concern changed to iron-clad certainty, and then, in matter-of-fact tones, he said, "Because God commanded it. Because we have work for you."

A long, weighty sort of silence stretched out then, and Castiel could read the veiled shock in the man standing before him. Dean was quite good at hiding his emotions, but his green eyes gave him away. Still, Castiel could acknowledge that he was a bit too out of touch with humanity to read everything he saw there without expending considerable effort. Finally, his voice rough and more than a little angry, Dean asked, "What the hell kind of work?"

The angel tilted his head slightly, considering his options. He didn't yet know what Heaven's plan was for Dean. They had told him very little, considering. Ariel likely knew more, but she wasn't here. And besides that, whatever the plan, God's plan, was, Dean wasn't ready. Not yet.

"When you're ready to know," he said, "We will tell you. For now, you need to prepare."

Clearly, the hunter didn't much care for this non-answer, and he snapped, "Prepare for what, damnit?"

Castiel considered clarifying, but he could hear his garrison calling for him, somewhere in China. Instead, he said, "Your friend will be waking soon." As if on cue, the unconscious man at their feet began to stir with a little groan; Dean looked down reflexively. There was a soft rustling sound, and when he looked back up, Castiel was gone.

* * *

><p><em>AN: I was going to make this longer, but I figured this was as good a place as any to stop. We'll get more Dean in the next chapter, I think. Review! Reviews make me giddy, and give me the urge to write more often!<em>


	5. Witness

_Again, sorry for the delay. Couldn't figure out how I wanted the 'first' meeting between Dean and Ariel to go, and then I picked up Skyrim. MISTAKE. It is totally sucking up a large portion of my free time. _

_Anyway, this is a longer chapter to make up for the wait, with a bit more, you know, forward momentum. We've been moving pretty slow the last couple chapters..._

_Standard disclaimer, Supernatural and all that entails belongs to not-me, etc etc._

* * *

><p><em>"Do you think God would've let any of that happen if He were alive?" -Raphael<em>

"Son of a _bitch_..." he muttered, staring at the empty space where the 'angel' had been. Again, Bobby caught his attention when he suddenly sat up with a grunt. Dean reached down and pulled the clearly disoriented older hunter to his feet, and Bobby looked around for their missing guest before asking, "Alright. What'd I miss?"

Dean let out a little huff of air, almost a laugh, and said, "Dude you are _not _going to believe this. Come on, let's get our stuff..."

.

...

.

Bobby was driving, his grip on the steering wheel rather tight.

"An angel."

"That's what he said."

"An _angel_. Of God. From _heaven_," Bobby repeated, his tone heavy with shocked disbelief, and Dean sighed.

"Yeah, Bobby, I know. I don't believe it either, but you repeating it over and over isn't going to change what the dude said. Just... let's get to Sammy and we'll figure out what the hell, okay?"

Bobby fell silent and Dean turned to stare out the window, thoughts racing. It _couldn't _be an angel. Not _really_. That was... impossibly ridiculous. What possible 'work' could God have for _him_? If Bobby hadn't been there, Dean would have been convinced he'd hallucinated the entire thing.

But what if it was an angel? What if there _was _a god? That was good, wasn't it? To have something like that on their side, for once? Yeah... that would be good. Too bad, really, that it wasn't an angel. Winchester luck just didn't run in that direction.

* * *

><p>The woman was focused, intent, her pale grey-green eyes fixed on the empty space between her upraised hands. A soft white ball of light was forming there, and when he looked out of the corner of his eye, he could almost see the shimmering bubble that was expanding out from it, spreading to cover the small town in central Ireland.<p>

Arrayed silently around her were a few others, and behind _them_, the hunter stood, staring in shock. He blinked a few times, trying to make sense of the fact that the extremely hostile ghosts that had been, until recently, attacking him, were gone. In their place? A collection of absurdly pretty, silent people of various ethnicities. One of them, looking rather similar to the only woman, with the same rich coppery-caramel skin and black hair, turned to look at the man, eyes flicking briefly to the rifle he was holding limp.

"I understand this is something of a surprise," he said kindly, and the hunter, a native Irishman with shocking red hair, snapped alert, the gun moving up in one fluid movement.

"What _are _you?" he blurted, though his voice was as hushed as the stranger's had been.

"We are angels, Liam. We came to protect this town until the spirits can be put to rest."

Liam blinked at the matter-of-fact reply and stared hard at the figure in front of him. He believed in God, in angels, though nothing he'd encountered had ever quite fit the bill before. His instincts were screaming at him; something about the earnest expression and the kind brown eyes made him think he could trust this man, this 'angel', and he relaxed fractionally, glancing back at the woman. As a hunter for over a decade, he'd learned to trust his instincts.

"What's she doing?"

"Ariel? She's pushing the spirits out of town. Once they're out, the ward will keep them out."

The hunter shivered at the mention of the especially violent spirits that had converged on his hometown, on _him_. People he hadn't saved. People he'd failed. They'd disappeared as soon as this group had shown up out of nowhere.

"And you'll be leaving then, I suppose...?"

The angel looked surprised, and shook his head. "Oh, no. Ariel has to stay to maintain the ward. It won't stay up on it's own. We," he gestured at the three others standing around Ariel, "Will stay to make sure she's not interrupted."

"I see. And who're you?"

The animated young man_ (angel) _startled, and said, "Oh! I'm Ezekiel." He stuck out a hand, and Liam shook it_ (his hand was slightly cool)_ with a bemused expression forming on his face. He hadn't expected angels to be so... exuberant.

"So what's with these ghosts? Why are they so..."

"Violently fixated?"

Liam nodded somberly, swallowing the guilt that rose when he thought of the enraged faces that had come after him.

"This is the Rising of the Witnesses."

The slightly morose tone of the lean man standing next to him drew the Irishman's attention back to the present. The term, too, sounded familiar. "Rising of the..."

Suddenly, things he'd read over the years clicked into place and his eyes went wide. Seals. Hell on earth. _Lucifer_. "You don't mean the bloody _apocalypse_, do you?"

Ezekiel looked briefly pleased that he didn't have to explain, but then he turned somber again. "I'm afraid I do. Lilith... that's the First Demon," he clarified, "She's again walking the skin of the world, and she's breaking seals. That's why we're here."

Liam stared in horrified shock at the angel, wide eyed. "But-" He cut himself off, rolled his shoulders a bit, straightened up, and, in a rather firmer tone, asked, "What do I do? What _can _I do?"

Ariel drew their attention as she suddenly stepped closer to them, the warm smile on her face making her practically glow; she had lowered her hands, but the left was curled into a loose fist, and Liam could see a tiny white spark hovering there between her fingers, the only sign that she was doing anything unusual.

"You humans are brilliant, you know that? Ghosts rise up and come after you, _specifically_... You find out angels are _real _and that we're living in the End Days, and what's your first question? 'How can I help?' Absolutely _brilliant_," she said, her voice a velvet smooth alto. Liam blushed at the sincere praise of the slender woman, suddenly aware that the other angels were all beaming at him as well. He noted, while frantically trying to will the blood out of his cheeks, that the others seemed to be deferring to her, and figured she was in charge. However _that _worked...

"You can do what you've _been _doing. Hunt demons. Kill evil. _Save _people..." she said, still smiling. "In the coming weeks, you'll notice in increase in demonic activities, and probably a slight decrease in other types of supernatural entities. Monsters will be laying low. Waiting for the End."

Still blushing a bit, but focused on the task at hand, he asked, "Can it be stopped?"

The angel tilted her head slightly, and her eyes unfocused, like she was looking at something he couldn't see. "I believe so... Most of the focus will be on America, on a pair of hunters who are rather central to... current events. I believe they can stop it, together." Liam nodded, wanting to ask about these American hunters, but then Ariel refocused and said, "You should get home. Your niece is worried."

"How do you-"

"She's got angels watching over her," came the wry interruption. Ezekiel shifted, suddenly grinning, as Ariel nodded towards him. "This one, actually. Not that you should use that as an excuse to slack... I'll have him tell you when the Witnesses have been put to rest. It'd be best if you stayed in town until then."

And then, with a low rustling sound, she was gone, along with all the other angels, except for Ezekiel, who just shrugged at his flabbergasted expression.

* * *

><p>There was a rustling sound, almost masked by the sudden wind outside. Dean woke on the floor, near the couch, and felt the sudden urge to look into the kitchen.<p>

Castiel was standing there in the dark next to the fridge, leaning against the counter top. Dean stared for a long moment, then checked that Sam was still asleep before getting slowly to his feet and making his way towards the waiting angel.

He was... slightly hesitant, not knowing why Castiel was there, especially _after _such a long few days.

"Excellent job with the Witnesses," came the low, gravely opening. Dean stared, incredulous. His anger, sudden and hot, chased away any lingering sleepiness.

"You were hip to all this?"

Castiel nodded a bit, either not noticing, or not caring, about his sudden temper as he answered, "I was, uh, made aware."

"Well, thanks a lot for the angelic assistance," Dean snapped quietly, "You know, I almost got my heart ripped out of my chest."

The angel did not look surprised. Or concerned. He said, "But you didn't."

"I thought angels were supposed to be guardians. Fluffy wings, halos... you know, Michael Landon. Not dicks."

Castiel's expression did not change as Dean snarled at him. When he was done, there was a heavy sort of pause, and then he said, "Read the Bible. Angels are warriors of God. _I'm_ a _soldier_."

"Yeah? Then why didn't you fight?" Dean's response was fast. Sharp.

There was a flicker of something, then. Some emotion on the angels face, gone too fast for the hunter to identify it. "I'm not here to perch on your shoulder," he said, his deep voice sharper then before. "We had larger concerns."

"Concerns?" Castiel looked away, and seemed to take a long, slow breath as Dean continued. "There were people getting torn to shreds down here! And, by the way, while all this is going on, where the hell is your boss, huh, if there is a God?"

"There's a God," came the immediate response. Dean ignored the warning flicker in the angel's expression. He was tired, and pissed, and hurting. He'd been dragged through hell and back, literally, and now there were angels, and they were _useless_...

"I'm not convinced," Dean said, and again Castiel looked away, almost sighing.

"'Cause if there's a God, what the hell is he waiting for, huh? Genocide? Monsters roaming the earth? The freaking apocalypse? At what point does he lift a damn finger and help the poor bastards that are stuck down here?"

"The Lord works-"

Dean interrupted the angel who still wasn't looking at him. "If you say "mysterious ways," so help me, I will kick your ass." Castiel lifted both hands in a gesture of surrender and looked towards the fridge, falling silent.

There was a lengthy silence, and Dean suddenly realized he'd just tore into a friggin' angel. When he looked up, Castiel was watching him with wide blue eyes. Maybe it was time to get past the 'no-help-during-witnesses' bit and get on to the 'fact-finding' bit...

"So, Bobby was right... about the witnesses..." Dean moved over to stand in front of the fridge. "This is some kind of a... sign of the apocalypse."

"That's why we're here," came the answer as the trench-coat-wearing angel's turned to follow his movements. "Big things afoot."

Dean stared for a beat, then asked, "Do I want to know what kind of things?"

"I sincerely doubt it," was the surprisingly honest answer. "But you need to know. The Rising of the Witnesses is one of the 66 seals."

"Okay. I'm guessing that's not a show at Seaworld."

Castiel wasn't looking at him, again, his face impassive as he looked towards the study where Sam lay sleeping on the couch. "Those seals are being broken by Lilith."

He met Dean's eyes as some of the pieces fell into place. "She did the spell. She rose the witnesses."

"Mmhmm. And not just here. Twenty other hunters are dead, beyond the ones you know about."

"Of course. She picked victims that the hunters couldn't save so that they would barrel right after us."

"Lilith has a certain sense of humor," replied the angel.

"Well, we put those spirits back to rest."

"It doesn't matter. The seal was broken."

Dean frowned. "Why break the seal anyway?"

"Think of the seals as locks on a door."

"Okay... Last one opens and..."

A long, tense silence followed his question, and then Castiel pushed away from the counter and turned to face him. He looked like he didn't want to answer, and his voice was almost hesitant when he said, "Lucifer walks free."

Dean stared, waiting for the punchline. There wasn't one."Lucifer?" Castiel nodded very slightly, and the hunter, hoping that somehow this was all a big joke, said, "But I thought Lucifer was just a story they told at demon Sunday school. There's no such thing."

"Three days ago, you thought there was no such thing as me." He swallowed, inwardly acknowledging the truth of that statement, and Castiel added, "Why do you think we're here walking among you now for the first time in 2,000 years?"

"To stop Lucifer," Dean whispered, voice gone as the horror of the idea welled up.

Castiel nodded. "That's why we've arrived."

"Well..." Suddenly, Dean needed to go on the offensive. It was too much. _Too much_, too fast. He couldn't do this... So he leaned on the counter right next to the fridge and said, "Bang-up job so far. Stellar work with the witnesses. That's nice."

There was another flicker on the angel's face at his snark.

"We tried," said Castiel. "And there are other battles, other seals. Some we'll win, some we'll lose. This one we lost."

Dean huffed a bit and looked away, his disdain quite clear on his face. Suddenly, Castiel's expression shifted, and he took a few steps closer, drawing Dean's attention. "Our numbers are _not_ unlimited," said the angel, and Dean straightened a bit at the suddenly hostile tone. "Six of my brothers died in the field this week. You think the armies of Heaven should just follow you around? There's a bigger picture here."

There was a slight pause as Castiel leaned in a bit, and Dean found himself nervously watching the angel from the corner of his eye, unable to look at the smaller man straight-on. "You should show me some respect," Castiel growled. "I brought you out of hell, I can throw you back in," he said, voice low and threatening. But it didn't sound like a threat. It sounded like a _promise_. For once, his customary smart-ass commentary was absent.

The tense, extremely hostile and nerve-wracking moment was broken by a low pitched, feminine voice from the doorway, saying, "_Castiel_..."

Dean recognized the tone. It was a tone he'd used on Sam hundreds... probably thousands of times. It was vaguely chiding, but more then that, it was-

Dean saw Castiel blink and jerk back, and was briefly fascinated by the emotions that suddenly chased each other across the previously rather cold-eyed man's expression. The menacing glare shifted to startled remorse, then, a sort of guilty embarrassment; over it all, was, strangely, confusion. Like Castiel didn't really know why he reacted to his name, in that _tone_, like he had.

Tension dispersed, Dean looked away from his study of the other man and raised an eyebrow in surprise. The woman leaning against the door frame was quite pretty, in an exotic sort of way, and eerily familiar. She was also staring at Castiel with an expression of almost fond irritation. He immediately got an 'older sibling' vibe from her, which was ridiculous... wasn't it? That would explain the _tone_, though...

She was dressed casually in a t-shirt and jeans, though he couldn't quite make out colors where she was standing in nearly complete shadow. Blue, or black maybe, for the shirt. Probably black for the sensible looking boots. Her eyes were light, standing out against her caramel skin and framed by long, thick, loose braids.

"Hi. And you are...?" he asked, flashing a grin. Her eyes turned to him and Dean got the sudden impression that, like Castiel, she could see right through him. Her mouth twitched in amusement.

Castiel, having backed up a bit out of Dean's personal space, spoke up then, still looking slightly puzzled, and said, "This is Ariel. Your _guardian_."

Dean blinked at the emphasis he put on the last word, glancing briefly at Castiel as he recalled earlier, only slightly less hostile parts of their conversation. Ariel smiled. It was the most open expression he'd seen on an angel yet, and Dean suddenly wondered which of the two angels in the room was the norm. Because, obviously, this woman who'd appeared out of nowhere, who Castiel knew, had to be an angel too, right?

"My what?" he asked instead of all the other questions running through his head.

"Your guardian," came the velvet-smooth response, and she pushed herself off the door frame and moved a bit closer, offering a long-fingered hand. He shook it carefully, surprised at the coolness of her skin, and she smiled again, the expression lighting up her eyes more than a little. "I've been watching over you since before you were born," she added, and Dean's eyebrows crept ever higher.

Before he could think of a response, Castiel interrupted. "Ariel?"

She didn't look at him, just said, "Yes," and Dean got the impression that a rather lot of information was conveyed in that one word, because Castiel vanished with a low rustle.

"Since before I was born, huh?"

"Yes. I watched over your father, and your father's mother, and her sister," she said, backing up a step and leaning against the table, her smile widening slightly as she continued. "And her father and his brothers. And _his _father and his _sisters_. And so on..."

Dean blinked once, processing that, and then asked, "Why?"

She tilted her head to one side, a braid falling against her cheek, and Dean's eyes flickered to the long gleaming black feather stuck in the braid; it glistened with an unusual sheen in the low light, and he wondered idly what kind of bird it came from.

"Because my Father told me to," Ariel said eventually, her tone implying that that was the only answer he'd be getting for now.

Dean could understand that sort of sentiment, though, and nodded slightly. "Right. So what's a 'guardian' do, anyway? You're an angel, right?" He thought it would be prudent to confirm, all things considered.

"Yes, I am. And I try to keep my charges out of trouble, keep them alive, safe, and happy..." There was a pause, "'Try' being the operative word. It's harder then you'd think," she added. "Nothing but work work work, every day. _Especially_ when they're hunters."

Dean conceded the point with a little nod, smirking a bit. He wondered if he should ask where the hell she'd been during the witnesses, if she was his 'guardian', but the _last _time hadn't gone so well. Still, he felt strangely more at ease with this angel then the other. Perhaps because she seemed to understand about personal space, and didn't seem inclined to threaten him with Hell. Or at all. And he _had _noticed her use of the word 'they'. He wondered if she meant Sammy...

"So... what now?"

"Now? Now is the time to ask your questions, Dean."

Dean blinked at the rather open-ended invitation, then narrowed his eyes slightly and asked the first thing that came to mind.

"Have we met before?"

She blinked, eyebrows lifting, and Dean was amused at having managed to surprise an angel.

"Yes. More than once, actually, though the last time was quite recently."

It was Dean's turn to raise an eyebrow, and she must have seen the question coming, because she clarified.

"After my brother lifted you from the Pit, but before you were returned to Earth, he left you in my care."

There were any number of things he wanted to ask about that, but asking would likely force him to think about 'the Pit', as she called it, and that he refused to do. He could ask about when else they'd met, and why he couldn't really remember, but he got the feeling he either wouldn't get an answer, or wouldn't like the answer given. So, instead, he quirked his eyebrow again and said, "Brother, huh? I did sort of get that vibe..."

Ariel smiled slightly, the knowing expression around her eyes more then a little unnerving, like she knew what questions he _wanted _to ask, but hadn't; she accepted his subject-shift, though and nodded. "All angels are brothers and sisters, Dean. We all have the same Father."

"Huh... He's younger then you, right?"

She was surprised again, and there was a flash of something else in her eyes, almost like pain, that Dean didn't know what to make of. "Yes... Castiel is younger..." Though he wanted to pursue the subject, he unsubtly shifted topics again.

"So... How do we stop the apocalypse?"

Ariel shifted her weight and folded her arms across her chest, suddenly looking quite uncomfortable.

"I will never lie to you, Dean. I may not answer all your questions, but I will not ever tell you a lie. Are you sure you want me to answer that one...?"

Dean swallowed, folding his arms and unconsciously mimicking her slightly defensive posture as he leaned on the counter opposite her, and nodded, suspecting he was absolutely not going to like the answer.

"I don't know if we can."

He stared at her. She didn't blink, and Dean got the feeling she was looking right through him again. "It's not _impossible_... but it is going to be hard. _So _hard... and probably painful. And people _are _going to die. You, me, Sam, Bobby, Castiel and any other number of people might die. Horribly..."

"Wow. Great pep talk."

She offered a sincere, if sad half-smile, and added, "But it's not impossible. We're going to have to try to keep the seals intact. _If _Lilith breaks all sixty-six seals, if Lucifer walks free... we'll have a whole different ball-game. New rules. New problems. New horrible ways to die, on top of all the old ones. Even then, though, there will be a small, fragile window where we can still stop it..."

"Please tell me this isn't you being optimistic."

"I'm one of the most optimistic angels in my garrison," she deadpanned, though her eyes crinkled a bit in amusement.

"For now, you need to get your rest. This is war, and there's a lot of work ahead."

"Right. Cause it'll be _so_ easy to sleep, now," he snarked, inwardly refusing to think about the nightmares that had been plaguing him. He lifted an eyebrow at her suddenly open amusement, but before he could ask what was funny, she said, "If you need help, or you have more questions... or if you just want to talk, call me."

"Call you? What, like on the phone...?"

She smiled again, still strangely, and visibly, amused. "No. Just call my name like I'm in the room and you're trying to get my attention. I'll hear you."

Dean's eyebrows were creeping upwards again, and he felt vaguely unsettled. "What, like... like, praying or something?" The angel, instead of being insulted by his tone, seemed even more amused, her smile almost turning into a grin, revealing straight white teeth. "_Just _like a prayer. Or a phone call, without the phone. However you want to think of it, Dean. You can call Castiel, as well, in the same way."

Dean woke with a start, finding himself still wrapped in his blanket, morning sunlight streaming through the window as Sam walked past and sat down on the couch, yawning and pulling on an over shirt. "You alright?" asked his brother as he sat up and rubbed his face.

When he didn't answer right away, Sammy, his voice slightly more insistent, asked, "What's wrong, Dean?"

He had no memory of Ariel leaving, no memory of going back to bed. One second he'd been talking in the kitchen, then he blinked and it was morning. And she hadn't put him to sleep, like Castiel had Bobby...

"So," he started, clearing his throat. "You got no problem believing in... God and angels...?"

Sam stared at him, buttoning his shirt, and shook his head. "No, not really." He reached down for one of his shoes, and Dean, after a moments hesitation, added, "So I guess that means you believe in the devil..."

His brother paused, elbows leaning on his knees, and then asked, "Why are you asking me all this?"

Dean didn't fail to notice the non-answer, and glanced back into the kitchen where the conversation had taken place. Or where it seemed to have taken place, anyway... Was it a dream? Was it real? Both, maybe? Friggin' angels...

Dean considered calling Castiel or Ariel right then and there, if only to ensure that it hadn't just been a messed up dream, but figured, with the apocalypse and all, they were probably busy. He'd talk to Bobby about it, see if angels were known for chatting you up while you were asleep.

"I ah, had a couple visitors last night," he said, turning back to Sam and rubbing his hand across his face. His brother looked equal parts interested and concerned. "What kind of visitors?"

"Angels," was his short reply. Bobby chose that moment to come stomping into the room, and Dean used the distraction to drag himself to his feet. He could hear Sam trying to question him as he slipped out of the room and up the stairs, but he didn't stop. There would be time for answers and doom-and-gloom later. They'd get out the books and find everything they could lay their hands on about angels and Lucifer and seals and the goddamn apocalypse... But right now he just needed a few minutes to himself...

.

...

.

"So angels communicate through dreams?"

"Looks that way. Dreams, or appearing in visions seems most common. There's a bit here about them influencing people from a distance or imparting information directly," answered Bobby, glancing down at the messy pile of open books on the desk. Dean was lounging on the couch and Sammy had folded himself into one of the chairs, his eyes on his elder brother.

"So there was two of them?"

Dean nodded, glancing at Sam. "Yeah. Castiel again - and boy his _he_ a delight - and a new one named Ariel." The older Winchester painted a smirk on his face as he eyed his little brother and added, "Smokin' hot, that one."

As if on cue, Sam shot him an offended look and objected. "Dean!"

He laughed, grinning a bit evilly at his brother. It was good to see he could still get that response, after all they'd been through.

"Alright, you idjits. Enough. So what'd they have to say about all this?"

Dean's good humor faded as he turned to Bobby, and his voice was half serious, half desperately teasing when he said, "Looks like this is the big one. Lilith is busting seals, and if she gets them all, apparently the devil pops out sawing a fiddle and dancin' a jig."

* * *

><p>Sam had disappeared again, though this time he hadn't taken Dean's car. Dean frowned as he leaned against the wall next to the motel-room window. He didn't know how long he'd be gone, but suddenly, Dean decided that his brothers absence was a sign that it was time for some answers. Pulling the curtains shut with one final look at his baby gleaming in the moonlight, Dean moved closer to the middle of the room and, with more then a little trepidation, tried to call up an angel.<p>

"Uh... Ariel?" He had his eyes closed, and felt more then a little silly talking to an empty room. "If you're up there, I, uh... It's not urgent, or anything, but-"

"Dean."

The calm, amused voice behind him made him jerk around in surprise. Ariel was standing near the door, head tilted to one side. "You rang?"

Dean stared, a bit amazed that it had worked. She moved into the light, and he realized the t-shirt was a vibrant purple. The color suited her strangely well.

"Yeah, uh... I had some questions."

She glanced around the otherwise empty room, and her expression shifted from amusement to what he was starting to think of as the angelic default. It was coolly serene and impassive. "Where's Sammy?"

"Shouldn't you know that?" Pain flashed in her eyes, visible only for a second before she chased it away.

"I should, but I don't. He's been blocked to me since he was six months old. If I want to find him, I have to do it the hard way," came the tense, blunt answer. Dean blinked, filing that information away for later. He shifted his stance, slightly, wanting to sit on the edge of his bed, but also wanting to be on his feet, ready to defend himself; he didn't actually think he'd ever need to _fight _Ariel, but years of training were hard to overcome.

Instead of moving, he asked, "So I meant to ask before, but where the hell were you during the whole crap-fest with the witnesses?"

Ariel shifted, leaning back a bit at his abruptly accusing tone. She was definitely more expressive then Castiel, and Dean almost felt guilty about the question. Still...

"Ireland."

"Ireland? What the hell for?"

She leaned one shoulder against the partition between the door to the room and the beds, pale grey-green eyes meeting his gaze steadily. "When the Witnesses rose, they rose all over the globe, Dean. The Host was spread thin already, fighting demons, trying to protect seals. My garrison is... specialized."

Dean cut in with, "Specialized how, exactly?"

She didn't seem to mind the interruption, and said, "We protect certain human bloodlines. Like yours. It is a task given to us by God, so as you can imagine, we take it _very _seriously. There is a town in central Ireland where the last daughter of one of the bloodlines lives. She is six years old. Her uncle is a hunter."

"Okay... what does that have to do with you, specifically? Aren't there lots of guardians? Don't you guys, you know.. share your job or whatever?"

Ariel looked half-amused, half-guilty when she answered. "I was needed to raise a ward to protect the girl, and by extension, the town and her hunter uncle, from the extremely hostile spirits raised by Lilith. There are 'lots' of guardians, Dean, but I'm the First."

Dean blinked, not understanding. "First...?"

"The First Guardian. I lead my garrison. There are others who _could _have raised the ward, but they were busy protecting other places, fighting other battles. I was the only one strong enough who was available. I'm sorry," she added, and Dean got the weird idea that she wasn't just apologizing for not being there as she dropped her gaze for the first time. "I wanted to be here, but I had to trust you and your brother could protect _yourselves_, could put the Witnesses to rest, without my presence."

"I... see..." Dean stared for a long, silent minute, arms folded across his chest. "So the kid... she's okay?" Ariel looked up, startled and slightly bemused. "Yes."

* * *

><p>It was a different room, a different motel, a different night.<p>

Castiel and Ariel were already in there, silent and invisible, as Sam was slipping out, their eyes following him as the younger Winchester paused at the foot of Dean's bed _(as before, as always, the bed closest to the door_). Hesitating. Ariel reached out, trying to use her connection to the bloodline to keep him here. To pull him off his dark path...

But he was too far gone. Maybe if she'd _been _there to guide him, to get rid of his... _harlot_... But she wasn't. Instead, she'd been in the Pit, trying to salvage the untainted half of the bloodline. Castiel, if he noticed her attempt, said nothing, silently taking an invisible seat on the unoccupied side of Dean's bed and turning curious blue eyes to the sleeping, dreaming man.

Ariel perched on the counter next to the TV, eyes following Sam even through the hindrance of motel wall, and space, and demonic aura as he slid into the car next to that... next to Ruby. She lost sight of him as they drove off, unable to keep her Sight on him through the connection she _should_ have had with him. It was _gone_. Or at least, too damaged to use.

She shook her head and pushed aside her guilt, turning pale eyes to the one she could still save, who could maybe, just maybe, save his brother where she'd failed. Dean. He rolled over onto his side, away from Castiel. He was dreaming of Hell. She frowned, inwardly cursing the burgeoning war that had kept her in battle, kept her from helping ease those nightmares. Castiel was watching her, she knew. He was curious. She felt like she was giving too much away every time she looked at her brother, so she tried to avoid it. She couldn't tamper with his memories. If he'd been meant to remember, then their Father would have shielded him too. Already he was changing, ever so slightly. Every time he interacted with her, or with Dean, he changed just a bit. It couldn't continue. He wouldn't be safe...

Dean awoke with a start, the horrors of his time in Hell blinding him to the room for an instant before a gravely voice jerked him into the present.

"Hello Dean."

He jerked his head around, half rolling over, eying Castiel, and the angel added in a strangely knowing tone, "What were you dreaming about?"

Dean's expression shuttered closed as he pulled the jacket he was using as a blanked off his arm. Before he could answer, a faintly scolding tone interjected.

_"Castiel."_

Castiel got that strange, caught-out expression before it flickered_ (again) _through surprise and confusion as both men turned to the woman perched next to the TV. Ariel was staring at the trench-coat wearing angel with a raised eyebrow, and added as an afterthought without shifting her gaze, "And yes, Dean. Angels, when we're not fighting apocalyptic battles between Heaven and Hell mostly just... _watch_."

He snorted a laugh at the vaguely teasing answer to the jab he hadn't managed to get out _(wondering if she'd read his thoughts or just his expression), _and just caught the flicker of pleased triumph on her face as she quirked a half-smile. Castiel looked between the two of them, clearly not quite able to keep up with the byplay.

Dean sat up further and scrubbed a hand over his face, and Castiel said, "Dean. You have to stop it." Ariel was silent, and he glanced at her now somber expression before turning to the other angel. "Stop what?"

"It's very important," came the cryptic, gravely reply, and then Castiel was pressing the tips of his index and middle fingers against Dean's forehead.

* * *

><p>Dean watched surreptitiously as his father started across the street. It was eerie. He was so <em>young<em>. He was younger then Dean was. Suddenly, a blaring horn and screeching tires jerked him out of his reverie, and his eyes widened in horror as the car careened towards the frozen Winchester patriarch.

He was sure, for a moment, that he was about to watch John Winchester die long before his time, but then a slender, short young woman with long black hair and a billowy, colorful _(purple and blue and green)_ shirt appeared as if from nowhere and yanked the young man out of the street.

They stumbled to the side of the road, the car missing them by inches as it skidded to a halt, and Dean stared, shocked, as Ariel, looking perfectly like she belonged in this time, saved his father's life.

"Look _both _ways, crazy-man," he heard her say to his gaping, slightly unsteady father, her voice amused and slightly breathless.

"Yeah. _Wow_. Yeah... thanks. I just..."

"Almost died. Yes, I saw," came the quick answer with a friendly grin. Dean was staring blatantly from down the road. Sure, she'd _told _him she had watched over his family, but this was... well, _proof_. Assuming this was _real_, of course.

"John," he said, offering a hand, and she shook it, still smiling. "Ariel. Nice to meet you, John. Think you can take it from here? Only, I'm sort of running late since I didn't factor in 'saving the day' to my schedule..."

John laughed, a relieved, happy sound, dimples _(Sammy's dimples)_ flashing into view, and nodded before glancing at the stopped car, where the pale, shaken looking driver was just getting out. "Yeah, I think I got it."

When he turned back, though, she was gone. Only Dean, who couldn't have looked away if he wanted to, had seen her vanish with a rustle. It wouldn't occur to him until later how much happier Ariel had seemed. She'd practically glowed, and her expression wasn't guarded at all. Not like the Ariel he had met.

Dean watched as his dad talked quietly with the frantically apologetic driver, for a moment, and then John turned to continue down the street, apparently changing his destination with a thoughtful frown. The younger _(older?)_ Winchester followed him around a corner, almost bumping into Castiel.

"What is this," he snapped, more then a little alarmed by the situation.

"What does it look like?" came the non-answer.

"Is it real?"

"Very."

"Okay, so what... Angels got their hands on some Daloreans? How did I get here?"

Castiel looked away, towards the street, as he answered in his usual slow, calm manner. "Time is... fluid, Dean. It's not easy, but we can bend it on occasion."

"Well bend it back!" exclaimed the hunter, not at all calmed despite the angel standing in front of him. "Or tell me what the hell I'm doing here."

"I told you," said Castiel, staring at him with unreadable blue eyes. "You have to stop it."

"Stop what? What, is something nasty after my dad? And where's Ariel? I mean real, now... later... future-Ariel?"

A blaring car horn and a set of screeching tires, reminding him horribly of the near miss not long ago, made Dean turn towards the street. Traffic was already moving again, though, and when he looked back, Castiel was gone.

"Come _on_," Dean muttered, temper rising as he looked around and ranted at the now absent angel. "What are you, allergic to straight answers, you son of a bitch?"

There was no reply, and some urge, some instinct, told him not to try calling to either angel, despite his need for answers.

* * *

><p>Dean woke in his bed in the motel, jacket over one shoulder. He could see Castiel standing near the foot of his bed, not looking at him. He was looking at Ariel, who was sitting on the edge of the other bed, eyes on her hands.<p>

Slightly breathless, Dean said, "I couldn't stop any of it... She still made the deal. She still died in the nursery, didn't she."

Castiel didn't look away from his sister as he answered. "Don't be too hard on yourself. You couldn't have stopped it."

Dean felt anger and confusion trying to take the forefront as he slowly pushed himself to his feet, staring at Castiel's profile. "What?"

"Destiny can't be changed, Dean." Castiel turned and faced him, his expression a strangely somber, empathetic one. "All roads lead to the same destination."

"Then why'd you send me back?"

"For the truth," whispered Ariel, Castiel turned to look at her. Dean would have followed his gaze, if the sudden concern on the male angel's face hadn't frozen him in place. Ariel was the expressive one... right?

"Now you know everything we do," added Castiel.

"What the hell are you talking about? And where the hell were _you_ when my dad was getting killed by that yellow eyed bastard?" The angry, distraught hunter directed the second question at the seated angel, and she flinched visibly. Castiel put a hand on her shoulder, and Ariel looked up, startled, even as Castiel directed Dean's attention to the emptiness of the bed she was sitting on.

Dean realized with a start that Sam was, again, missing. "Where's Sam?"

"We know _what_ Azazel did to your brother. What we don't know... is why. What his endgame is. He went to great lengths to cover that up," said Castiel, still resting his hand _(consolingly?)_ on Ariel's shoulder. Dean didn't know what to make of her expression as she stared at her brother, and didn't have time to puzzle it out.

Dean repeated the question, more forcefully. "Where's Sam?"

"425 Waterman," said Ariel, meeting Dean's gaze with sad, almost guilty eyes. She disappeared from the room with a rustle even as Dean moved to pull on his jacket. Castiel remained where he was standing, glancing briefly _(puzzled?)_ at his now empty hand. "Your brother is headed down a dangerous road, Dean, and we're not sure where it leads."

Dean checked his gun and found it ready and loaded. He had half turned towards the door when Castiel's gravely, chilling words hit his ears. "So stop it. Or _we _will..." Dean turned his head and stared at the angel, and Castiel met his gaze head on, seemingly willing to let the hunter read what little expression he had.

No... there was no doubting the meaning behind the warrior angels words. No doubt at all.

* * *

><p>Dean watched through the grating as his little brother, his Sammy... ripped a demon out of some dude using an upraised hand and, presumably, his mind. And he was <em>pissed<em>. Furious. He thought back to that first car ride with his brother, after he got back. He'd asked, point blank, if Sam had been using his powers. Sammy... Sam... had lied to him. Right to his face.

_"Huh... What about Ruby? Where is she?" asked Dean, glancing at his brother as he drove down the road, following Bobby._

_"Dead. Or in hell," said Sammy with a shrug. "I dunno."_

_Dean nodded slightly, not missing how Sam hadn't looked at him when he answered. He wasn't sure what that meant. "So," he started, "You been using your, uh, freaky E.S.P. stuff?"_

_"No," came the quick answer, and Sam was looking at him when Dean glanced back over._

_"Sure about that? Ah, well, I mean, now that you've got immunity, whatever the hell that is, just wondering what other kind of weirdo crap you got going on."_

_"Nothing, Dean." Sam's voice was emphatic, and Dean looked over to try reading his little brother's expression as he answered. "Look, you didn't want me to go down that road, so I didn't go down that road. It was practically your dying wish."_

Dean glanced away as Sam and the woman - demon, the _other_ demon had said - exchanged a long look._ His dying wish..._

His eyes were drawn back as Sam moved over to check the guys pulse, and the dark-haired woman asked, "How'd that feel?"

"Good. No more headaches," Sam said, smiling as he started untying the formerly possessed man.

"None? That is good," she said.

The man in the chair woke suddenly, gasping a bit and looking more then a little unsteady. "Hey, hey," said Sam. "I got you. It's all right.."

Sam helped him stand, sharing another heavy look with the woman, and Dean chose that moment to pull open the door and interrupt the touching moment. The shocked expression on his brothers face as he walked in was telling.

"So," he started, trying to bite down on his rage. "Anything you want to tell me, Sam?"

"Dean," Sam said as he propped the man on a table. "Hold on, okay, just let me-"

Dean interrupted, moving closer slowly. "You gonna say, "Let me explain"? You gonna explain this? How about this," said Dean, sure his brother could see exactly how pissed he was based on his little brothers expression. "Why don't you start with who _she _is, and what the hell is she doing here?"

Sam didn't answer, his expression closing off a bit as he glanced over his shoulder at the woman. She looked cold and, to Dean, a little smug as she answered for his brother. "It's good to see you again, Dean."

Another stab of pure rage. He recognized her, suddenly. She'd been there the first time he saw Sam after climbing out of his own grave. She been in his little brother's motel room. In her _underwear_.

"Ruby..." Turning his incredulous, furious gaze on Sam, he asked, "Is that _Ruby_?"

Still Sam didn't say anything, and Dean smiled a cold, angry smile before throwing himself at the demon with an enraged grunt. She was surprised by the move, and cried out as she slammed against the wall. The knife made a chilling, metallic sound as he pulled it free.

"Don't!" Sam cried as he struggled with his brother, and managed to get the knife away as Dean knocked him back; Ruby lashed out then, pinning Dean against the same wall he'd had her against seconds ago.

"Ruby! Stop it!" yelled Sam, obviously not sure how to defuse the situation. Ruby stared into Dean's eyes and kept up the choke-hold with her right hand. Dean was pretty sure she was going to obey his brother, though he could see the murder quite clearly in her eyes, but then, suddenly, every light bulb in the place exploded with a blinding shower of sparks.

Ruby's grip loosened slightly in surprise and the instant it did, she was ripped away with astounding force, landing with a startled cry in a crumpled heap across the room. Ariel, who had appeared behind Ruby before ripping her away, snarled at the demon, then, and Ruby scrambled back, wide-eyed and panicked, even as Dean drew in a ragged breath and regained his balance.

"_You_ do not _touch_ Dean Winchester you dirty little Pit-slime," Ariel hissed out, advancing, a long, pointed, silvery blade dropping into her hand from seemingly nowhere and enormous, ghostly white wings suddenly flaring out behind her. It seemed colder in the room, and the very air inside the shadowy diner seemed to hum with angelic fury.

"Hey wait! Please don't," called Sam a little desperately, and Ariel paused, turning cold jade eyes on the younger Winchester who was staring at her in startled, semi-terrified awe.

"I will stay my wrath only this once, Sam. You keep your pet monster on a leash or I'll burn her to ashes for your own good. _Do you understand_?"

"Yes, yes I understand," he stammered, taken aback by the ferocity of this girl, this angel he'd never met, but who he recognized instantly from Dean's rather complete _(and typically lecherous)_ description. Dean was staring, equally surprised, as Ariel turned back to the nervous demon and nearly growled, "_Get out of my sight._"

Then, she turned her back on Ruby as the demon scrambled to her feet, weapon and wings disappearing into nothing as she went to examine shocked, semi-conscious man still half sitting on the table. She touched his brow, lightly, and closed her eyes as the brothers watched, still a bit frozen by her rather explosive entrance.

"I'll take him to the hospital," she said quietly, turning to study the brothers for a moment. Ruby had vanished.

Dean nodded once, glanced at Sam, then turned and walked to the door he'd come through. "Dean," called Sam, but he didn't answer. Ariel eyed him for a moment, her expression turning sad, though Sam didn't see it. She disappeared with the battered, semi-conscious man as he tried again, "Dean!"

But his brother was as gone as his angel was.

.

...

.

"Dean."

Dean stopped on his way to the car, which was parked just around the corner, and glanced at Ariel, who had just appeared a few feet away.

"Where's the guy?"

"Emergency Room. He'll be fine," she murmured, staring intently at him.

He paused, then bit out, "Did you know about this?"

"No. I knew little more than Castiel; I knew that your brother was on a dark path... but I didn't know anything... _specific_. Not until tonight, when I saw what he's been doing from the same angle as you."

The hunter raised his eyebrows, trying to push down his temper and focus on what she was saying. "So you were tailing me, huh?"

"I often am," she said calmly, though Dean got the feeling that the fury from when she'd faced off with Ruby was coiled just under the surface. "Stop him from what he's doing, Dean. If he isn't stopped... I don't think I'll be able to stop my brothers and sisters from killing him."

Dean froze, then bristled, the need to protect his little brother easily overruling how pissed he was at Sam. "Stay away from my-"

"_I'm sorry_," she interrupted, sounding sincere and guilty and strangely heartbroken. "I don't want... I should have done a better job. We sent you back, and you saw my _first _failure. But not my last. Sam, he was _supposed_ to be under my care, just as you are, but Azazel put a stop to that. _Save your brother_, Dean, where I couldn't. _Any _way I can help, any way _at all_, you only have to ask..."

And then she was gone.

Dean stared at the place where she'd been, frozen by the weight of the guilt she'd revealed before pulling the Houdini. The instant before she'd disappeared, the expression on her face... It made Dean think of every time he looked in a mirror. He wondered, then, just how invulnerable an angel was, or if, maybe, they were just like _people_. He wondered just how broken his guardian angel really was...

* * *

><p>Dean started packing as soon as he got in the room, ignoring Sam who had been waiting at the table by the door.<p>

"Dean, what are you doing?"

He didn't answer, instead shoving a bundle of cloths back into his bag. "What are you... are you leaving?"

"You don't need me," snapped Dean. "You and _Ruby _go fight demons."

"Hold on, Dean, come on man..." tried Sam as he brushed past him, catching his arm. Dean whirled around and hit his little brother with a solid right hook.

Sam spun with the blow, and when he turned back, his lip was bloody. "You satisfied?"

The question did nothing to lessen Dean's furious, desperate rage. If he couldn't get through to Sam, his brother was going to die. Killed by angels, of all things. Killed by the good guys. He hit him again, and threw down his bag, not even breathing hard as Sam straightened up a second time, this time touching his mouth gingerly and gasping a bit.

"I guess not..."

"Do you even know how far off the reservation you've gone? How far from normal? From human?"

Sam wasn't looking at him, his eyes somewhere off to his left. "I'm just exorcising demons," was the quiet response.

"With your mind!" yelled Dean, shaking his head. "What else can you do?"

"I can send them back to hell," answered Sam, trying a half-assed version of his usually effective puppy-dog eyes. "It only works with demons, and that's it."

Dean wasn't buying it, and grabbed Sam by the front of his shirt, shoving him back between the beds, growling, "What else can you do?"

"I told you!" cried Sam, pushing his hand away.

"And I have every reason in the world to believe that." Dean turned away, moving back towards his bag a bit, his head dropping a little.

"Look, I should have said something... I'm sorry, Dean, I am..." Sam said to his back. "But try to see the other side here."

"The other side?" Dean's tone was incredulous as he whirled on his brother.

"I'm pulling demons out of innocent people."

"Use the knife!"

"The knife kills the victim! What I do, most of them survive!" Dean stared at his giant of a little brother, hardly able to believe what he was hearing. Forget the knife. What was wrong with a good old fashioned Latin exorcism? "Look," continued Sam. "I've saved more people in the last five months than we save in a year."

"That what Ruby wants you to think? Huh?" Sam looked away again as Dean dropped his voice to a near whisper. "Kind of like the way she tricked you into using your powers...? Slippery slope, brother. Just wait and see. Cause it's gonna get darker, and darker... and God knows where it ends."

"I'm not gonna let it go too far," interjected Sam. Dean huffed, mouth pressed in a hard line as he turned away and moved towards the counter top holding the television and a couple lamps. He gave in to a sudden urge and swept a section of the counter clear, sending the ugly lamp smashing to the floor.

"It's already gone too far, Sam. If I didn't know you," he tried, desperately trying to pull his brother back from the edge, "I would want to hunt you."

Sam's eyes turned glassy, and he nodded once, a quick, slightly shocked movement of his head. "And so would other hunters."

"You were gone," the younger Winchester said in a sad sort of voice after a moment. "And I was here. I had to keep on fighting without you. And what I'm doing... it works."

"Well, tell me," said Dean with mocking, glassy-eyed sarcasm, "If it's so terrific, then why'd you lie about it to me?"

Sam looked down, not able to answer. "And why did_ two _angels tell me to stop you?" Dean's voice broke a little, and his little brother looked up, surprise on his face.

"What?"

"Cas said that if I don't stop you, he will. Ariel said pretty much the same thing, after that little showdown. See what that means, Sam?" His brother was looking shell-shocked and conflicted. "That means that _God _doesn't want you doing this. So, are you just going to stand there and tell me everything is all good?"

* * *

><p><em>AN: Phew. That was a long one. Honestly, I bit off a bit more then I could chew with my rough chapter outline, but here it is. I'm thinking I need to interject more super-fun-action-time in here, somewhere, since this last one was mostly super angst-filled dialogue and the rather altered confrontation between Dean and Ruby makes me smile. Anyway, let me know how you liked it. <strong>Review!<strong> And let me know if there's any scenes in particular you'd like me to cover. I may be able to fit them in (or may already be planning for them.)_

_Seriously though, only 7 reviews? That makes me so sad. I put on my sad-author-face. And then I go think about the next chapter. If the next chapter is depressing, it'll be your fault for making me wear my sadnessface.  
><em>


	6. Nightmares

_Lilith is in this one (sort of). I love that evil little girl-child, you know. She's totally got the whole 'innocently __**EVIL**__' thing down. It's super fun to watch. Meg (the current Meg, I prefer her to the formerly very __**angry **__blond one) is fun to watch too, actually. And Crowley. Huh... maybe I just have a bit of a thing for demons. Who knew?_

_Though, to be honest, I've never liked Ruby. Even before I knew what she was up to._

_Standard disclaimer, Supernatural and all that entails belongs to not-me, etc etc._

* * *

><p><em>"Dean's not...he's not Dean lately. Since he got out of hell. He needs help." -Sam Winchester<em>

Both Sam and Dean were asleep when she got there, and neither brother was resting peacefully. Sam was restless, and he'd tangled his long limbs up in the thin blanket he lay under.

Dean, on the other hand, was wrapped up in the Pit, though he didn't toss and turn, as his little brother did. His suffering was self-contained. Private.

Ariel sighed, silently moving to the space between the beds, then reached down and brushed the unruly hair from Sam's forehead; he quieted immediately, already deeper in his slumber. He wouldn't dream. Ariel nodded to herself, satisfied, as she carefully untangled the younger Winchester from his sheets. When she was done, she turned her attention to Dean and rested her fingertips lightly on the sleeping hunter's brow.

Ariel closed her eyes and slipped into Dean's nightmare. She'd meant to do this sooner, but there just hadn't been the time.

_Dean twisted, suspended in the Pit by chains and hooks in his very flesh. Alastair was there, a shapeless nightmare. He screamed as the monster worked on him with a long, twisted blade with jagged edges and hollow little spirals filled with some hellish substance that froze him and burned him at the same time. He screamed for his brother as he writhed in mindless agony, and then, suddenly, something shifted._

_Alastair froze above him, and Dean turned his head despite his protesting muscles, and he saw her. She was staring, and the frozen, horrified expression on her face made Dean go still. She didn't belong here, that much was obvious. She was too pretty. To clean. To brilliantly __**shining**__. And he knew her, somehow... but how? How how __**how **__did he know her? Alastair whirled and attacked the woman with a feral snarl of rage, and Dean wanted to close his eyes; he didn't want to watch the familiar stranger killed by his tormenter._

_But his eyes stayed open, and her expression turned from horrified to wrathful in an instant; beautiful, brilliantly white light spiraled out behind her, forming into what were undeniably **wings**, and then Alastair was burning and screaming and smoldering down into nothing under the touch of her hand. She drifted closer, then, after glaring balefully down at the drifting black smoke that was all that remained of Alastair. Dean watched, a strangely hopeful feeling twisting up in his gut as the sad-eyed woman approached, wings beating the air as she twisted gracefully between the mass of chains._

_"Dean," she whispered, and everything came rushing back at the sound of her voice. This wasn't __**real**__. It was a __**dream**__. He was out... wasn't he? He __**did **__know her... Ariel. That was her name... unless __**that **__had been the dream. Dean didn't know what was real, but then she reached out a hand and the hooks disappeared, chains crumbling into rubble. He should have fallen, then, plummeting into the pit below, but she caught him up in an almost-hug, her arms cool and strangely soothing, and curved those massive white wings around them both._

_Hell disappeared behind the wall of smokey white feathers, and then, they were somewhere __**else**__. Somewhere open to the sky, which Dean realized, as the angel released him carefully, was filled with impossible stars. The grass under his feet was soft and too green to be real, the sky above a vibrant blue-black, the pinpricks of silver light glimmering and moving visibly as he watched._

_"Dean."_

_He startled, glancing at her, and knew quite suddenly that __**this **__was the dream, that he really was out of hell; Ariel was real, Castiel was real..._

_As soon as the realization solidified, the world seemed to twist on it's axis; Dean blinked, disoriented by the twist, and he was back in the Pit. Ariel had vanished. Only, he could tell it was a dream, somehow. That made it worse, because this time, he wasn't __**on **__the rack._

_Dean twisted the knife a little, feeling the handle slip against his palm, slick with blood. He knew it was a dream. A memory. He __**knew **__he was out. This wasn't __**real**__. But it didn't matter. His hands moved on autopilot despite his useless attempts to regain control, and the screams that he'd worked so long and hard to block out echoed in his ears, cutting into him like knives._

_The blood poured across his hands, and Alastair, dream-figment that he was, was gloating somewhere behind him. He wasn't __**real**__. But it still didn't matter. He was trapped here anyway. Trapped here, endlessly reenacting his years in Hell. This wasn't the first nightmare he'd had. He always remembered them when he woke up, remembered the screaming, be it his own or that of some other tormented soul._

_He was forced to watch as his hand moved mechanically to pick up a different tool; a long, twisted blade with jagged edges and little hollow spirals filled with some hellish substance he couldn't name. Dean remembered how it burned, how it froze, and yet he still jabbed it almost delicately into the soul, and it __**screamed**__. The screams hurt, this time. They hurt because he knew that every soul he tortured in his dreams was just another soul he'd torn to shreds in the pit. They weren't real, but they __**had **__been. Once._

_Suddenly, behind him, there was... Chaos._

_Demons came boiling into the familiar room, shrieking, and the Alastair-figment was bellowing orders. The smokey fires lining the walls flared up, filling the dream with even more foul, blood red light. The soul whimpered, and Dean was shocked to find his body turning away, looking towards the chaos. He didn't remember this; he wondered if it was Ariel, again. But last time, it had been pure memory, interrupted only by her arrival. He'd recognized the memory. This whole scene... it was... new, yet almost familiar._

_And then, he saw them._

_Castiel and Ariel, battling demons with weapons made of pure white light._

_Castiel was cutting through the mass of screaming, snarling monstrosities with strong, brutal strikes, his sword quite large and wielded with two hands. He looked tired, a thin line of blood dripping down one side of his pale face from somewhere in his tousled hair. Those all-knowing blue eyes flashed with blue-white light as he cut down the demons one by one, enormous wings like inky shadows flexing and twitching in a constant counterbalance to his movements._

_Ariel danced around him, fighting with a smaller, one-handed blade. Her strikes were quick, darting, and the two angels moved in perfect sync. Like they were reading each others thoughts. And she was __**fast**__. Faster then the demons, faster then Castiel, though that could just be the smaller, lighter weapon at work. She too looked tired, but determined; the feathers in her hair gleamed as she whirled about, and her white wings, like smoke given shape, gave off a light that seemed to hurt the demons around her._

_Dean saw Alastair dive, snarling, into the fight, and as if they had been waiting for that very action, the pair of angels thrust themselves into the air of the vaulted room with powerful beats of their wings. They landed between Dean and the milling demons, and Ariel turned to face them, holding her weapon out horizontally with her free hand braced on the blade; brilliantly white light burst forth, and the entire horde of demons drew back with howls and shrieks of rage and pain._

_Castiel came towards him, and his body, still trapped in the dream, flinched away; the angel paused, vanished the sword into nothing, and moved in closer, shadowy wings curling in as if to make him look smaller. Dean stared at the wings, or, more specifically, at the strangely out of place streak of smokey white near the bend of the angel's right wing._

_"Dean Winchester, it is time to go from here," he said, distracting the dreaming hunter as he moved to stand on Dean's left side, glancing back at Ariel. When he put his right hand on his shoulder, it burned burned burned, and then, all of a sudden, it didn't. The burning stopped. Everything __**froze**__, like a photograph. Except Ariel, who took a quick step back and turned to face him, the curved, glowing sword held casually in one hand._

_"I'm surprised you remember this," she murmured, looking sad._

_That's when Dean realized he could move again, and he stumbled a bit as he regained power over his own limbs. Castiel was a statue. The demons were statues. The soul on the rack was frozen in place. Alastair was, surprisingly, hidden by the previously churning mass of demons. The smell of the Pit, sulfur and brimstone and something else he couldn't name, was gone. "What...?"_

_Ariel took a step closer, gracing the frozen statue of the other angel with a fond glance before answering the incomplete question._

_"I came to help with your... trouble sleeping. I did not expect you to tumble back into a nightmare... Back into this particular memory."_

_"This is... this __**happened**__?"_

_"Yes. You know this is a dream, don't you?"_

_"I- Yes. I after you came last time... I dunno. I know it's a dream. Doesn't seem to matter, though."_

_"It __**will **__matter now," she said, voice fierce. "And if it doesn't, I'll come and make sure it does."_

_Dean stared at her for a moment, and she vanished the glowing sword with a flick of her wrist before saying, "Help me tear down this image, Dean. I just plucked you out of it, last time, but obviously that didn't work."_

_"I don't..."_

_"This is a dream. __**Your **__dream. Your mind. You are the one in control, here," she said firmly, pale eyes intense as she met his eyes. The dirty red light filling the chamber seemed unable to touch her, and she added, "Take us somewhere else."_

_He responded automatically to the brief tone of command in her voice, not sure how he knew what to do. But he did know what to do, and with a few fits and starts, he forced the image of the chamber to crumble into rubble like he was burning down Hell itself; the image of the soul on the rack, and Castiel, both vanished with a little flicker, but he left the mass of demons there to be buried alive. Well, sort of alive, anyway. Beside him, Ariel watched the destruction with a little half-smile that faltered only briefly when a garden materialized around them._

_He wasn't sure why he'd picked this place, though it seemed familiar. Ariel's smile widened and she sat on a nearby bench, her wings dispersing in a thousand little spirals of light._

_"Interesting choice," she mused, turning her eyes up to the massive glass dome containing the mass of tropical plants. Dean followed her gaze, eyes widening as he took in the silvery stars swirling visibly across the blue-black sky._

_"Uh," he said, eloquently._

_"The Garden at the very center of Heaven. This is where I took you while Castiel repaired your vessel."_

_"I... Oh. Wait, this is heaven?" Dean blinked at her, still standing in the middle of the narrow pathway. She turned amused eyes to him and said, "No, this is a dream. And yes. This is how you perceived the Garden."_

_He dropped onto the bench next to her, still a little disoriented after the rather grueling nightmares. "Huh."_

Sam went from asleep to awake between heartbeats, his eyes snapping open, and the first thing he did, the first thing he almost _always _did, was look to his left. Dean was _there_, still asleep even as the curtains brightened as the sun came up; Sam sat up, feeling surprisingly well rested considering how messed up his head had been before he'd tried to sleep. Sam studied his brother for a moment, his heart giving a little lurch at the sudden realization that lately, Dean had always been first awake. Or still awake. Dean hadn't been sleeping well since he got back from... since he got back.

The younger hunter climbed to his feet, stretching, and turned towards the bathroom, trying to squash the guilty little voice accusing him of being a terrible brother. He should have been helping Dean, but instead he'd been sneaking out every night, sneaking out with Ruby.

.

...

.

Dean woke up as the shower kicked on in the bathroom, the shower curtain rattling on it's rail. He just lay there for a long moment, vaguely amazed at how refreshed he felt, considering he'd spent the whole night chatting up a surprisingly forthcoming angel. He'd learned a whole mess of things about heaven and hell, angels and demons. About what Ariel called 'the Time Before' and 'the First War' with capital letters he could actually hear; he'd learned about guardians, and, once he'd promised to keep it to himself, why they were different from other angels.

The hunter scrubbed his hand across his face, sitting up, and wondered absently what Castiel and Ariel were doing right that minute.

* * *

><p>When Castiel found her, she was sitting on the edge of a wide cliff in the Canadian Rocky Mountains, staring towards the sea; it was a clear, moonless night, and the stars blazed across the sky like diamonds floating in the velvety blue-black. Ariel had one leg dangling off the edge while she hugged the other, her chin resting on her knee.<p>

Castiel sat down next to her without a word, glancing briefly at the feathers adorning her braids before turning towards the rather beautiful vista. Dawn was creeping it's way across the continent, but it hadn't reached them yet. They sat in silence for a long moment, and then he said, "You are sad."

She stiffened slightly, and he saw her focus on him from the corner of his eye.

"Yes..."

The answer was hesitant, like she didn't know where he was going with his line of questioning. He didn't know either. He didn't even know why he'd tracked her here.

"Why?"

She inhaled, then, a shaky, uneven sound that made the warrior angel want to put his arm around her shoulders, to try to console her like he had when Dean had shouted at her, however ineffective it had been at the time. It was a strange urge, one he couldn't remember really having before. He resisted, this time.

_"I miss my brother."_

Castiel blinked, almost missing the whispered confession. He wondered which brother she missed. "I'm sorry." And he was. He didn't know why, but he felt like somehow, it was his fault she was sad. Ariel pressed her mouth briefly against her denim-clad knee for a moment before shaking her head. Castiel had turned to regard her more fully, and saw that her eyes were inexplicably shiny. Guardians were so very peculiar, but intriguing. Fascinating.

He opened his mouth, only to let it fall shut again as she asked, "What do you remember?"

"Remember...?"

"Of the Time Before."

Castiel blinked. Nobody spoke of the Time Before. Not ever. Everyone knew that there were things they'd forgotten, but it was unimportant. They had their tasks, their garrisons, their orders. That was all that mattered. Still, talking about it wasn't forbidden, and she had asked...

"I- I remember Michael, teaching us to fight. Raphael, teaching us to heal. Gabriel, teaching us to fly..."

Pale grey-green eyes were fixed on him, and he could see her true form glimmering behind them. Humans called eyes 'windows to the soul'. They were not wrong. "What else? Anything, beyond the lessens themselves? Do you remember the your first fight? The first thing you healed? The first time you spread your wings?"

Castiel stared at her, confused by the questions. Of course he didn't remember those things. Nobody remembered... _Nobody_... Suddenly, staring at his sister, he wondered _why _guardians were so different. He wondered, with a strange, dull pain in his chest, if it was because they knew something the rest of the Host didn't.

"Ariel..."

_"I remember," _she whispered, answering his question and turning her face away from him. The statement rocked him, and he found himself staring fixedly at her profile. Before he could gather himself, she had turned back to look him in the eyes, her expression sad and desperate and extremely worried.

"I need you to be careful, little brother."

"I don't understand..."

She sighed, one hand unwrapping from around her bent knee to touch his face - the face of his vessel - as she murmured, "I know. Just... try to be careful." Her fingertips were _extremely _cool, he realized, as she dropped her hand and turned back towards the sea. Angels tended to be slightly chilly... but only a few _burned _cold. He wondered what that meant, that her hands were so chilled.

"I'll try," he said, after a long moment. A little smile appeared on her lips, and Castiel, turning his own eyes back to the view, wondered if it was Gabriel she was missing. It seemed likely. Every garrison had a bit of a soft spot for the dead archangel, and they all remembered him fondly. At least, as fondly as they could, considering their fragmented memories.

Time passed as dawn crept ever closer, and Castiel realized he would soon run out of valid excuses to delay returning to the fight, so he asked, "How's Dean?"

At his side, Ariel's eyes unfocused, and she smiled a bit. "Good. Better than he was. He's just waking up." She hesitated, then added, "Sammy has decided to forsake his demon-given powers."

"That is good. I'm... glad," he said, meaning it. They sat companionably for another few moments, and then Castiel inhaled slowly and got to his feet.

"I have to go," he said, unnecessarily. He felt the strange, almost irresistible urge to linger. Ariel turned her face up to look at him, and Castiel's eyes caught on the long, weirdly familiar black feather in the braid next to her face. "I know. Fight well in our Father's name, and be careful, little brother."

Castiel nodded slowly, and then forced himself to go, mind still inexplicably fixed on that one, strange feather in the hair of his strange, elder sister even as he landed where his garrison had gathered. He pushed it to the back of his mind, along with the puzzle of_ 'I remember'_ and all that entailed. Later. There would be time for answers later, after the war was done.

* * *

><p>Dean collapsed, with a groan, face first on the bed nearest the door; he was exhausted. Aside from a bit of shifter-assisted unconsciousness, he hadn't slept in what felt like <em>days<em>. He could hear Sam shuffling around in the bathroom, and he wondered briefly if he would dream, and then he thought nothing at all.

_He barely had time to register the smoky, sulfuric stench of the Pit before it shattered into a thousand tiny pieces, leaving nothing but a misty grey void in it's place. Ariel was standing (hovering?) in front of him, observing the mist with a curious expression. Honestly, he was a bit surprised it had worked; when he'd woken up after their long dream-land chat, he'd done some (secretive) reading on lucid dreaming. And then he'd spent every moment after his research that he wasn't hunting something or dealing with monsters or holding a conversation - basically all the little free moments of the past few days - setting up... parameters. Like a computer program._

_"Interesting," she said, and Dean pulled himself out of his musings to find the angel peering into her cupped hands. A pool of the grey mist had gathered there, like water. Then she looked up and smiled, and Dean blinked at the way it made her glow. __**Literally **__glow. Soft white light seemed to ebb away from her, illuminating the void._

_She didn't seem to notice his distraction, or the glow, and gestured to the grey void, asking, "Do you mind?"_

_"Oh. Uh, no, go ahead," he said, somehow knowing what she was asking._

_The mist shivered, swirling around them, then it was swept away as if by a sudden wind. In place of the cool grey void, Dean found they were standing on that impossible green field of grass; it stretched as far as he could see, until, on the horizon, a thin glowing line of silvery light separated it from the blue-black velvet that was the sky. Stars swirled in constant motion above, like streamers of light._

_"What is this place?" he asked._

_"This is where angels learned to fly," came the quiet answer as Ariel dropped down to the grass, leaning back on her hands with her face tipped to the sky. Before he could think of a response, she said, "You shattered the nightmare on your own. I'm impressed."_

_Dean smiled, twitching a bit at the honest praise obvious in her voice, and sat down across from her, eyes sliding up to watch the stars dance._

* * *

><p>Dean was terrified. It wasn't natural, this all encompassing terror that gripped him. He knew it wasn't natural. But that didn't matter, not when his heart was racing and his muscles were twitching with the need to run or fight. He pressed the bible against his lips and closed his eyes, his fear making him not really register the action, or the desperate sort of prayers churning through his chemical-addled brain.<p>

A childlike voice from next to him made him freeze as his eyes snapped open. "Hi Dean."

Dean glanced furtively over and saw the grinning, blonde little girl sitting there and gasped out, "No. No."

"Yes!" she exclaimed. "It's me. Lilith." He tensed, trembling slightly as the hallucination hugged him. "Oh I missed you so much! It's time to go back now."

He slithered out of her grip, standing and pointing with the bible he was clutching. "You," he started in a quavery voice, "You're _not_ real."

"What's the matter, Dean? Don't you remember all the fun you had down there?" Dean eyed her, trying to force back his panic. "You do remember," said the girl, standing up. "Four months is like forty years in hell. Like doggy years. And you remember every second."

Dean opened his mouth to refute her, even though it was true, only to feel a sharp, driving pain in his chest; he grunted and fell to his knees, gasping, "You are not real."

The thing in the room with him grabbed his face and made him look at her, her eyes milky white. "It doesn't matter," she snarled. "You're still gonna die. You're still gonna burn."

"Why me? Why'd I get infected?"

"Silly goose," she said, resuming her childlike posture. "You know-"

She was cut off by a flash of brilliantly white light, and Dean jerked back slightly as a beautifully familiar, square-jawed face swam into focus. "Dean," Ariel whispered, "You stubborn fool..."

"Ariel?" he gasped, falling back as Lilith reappeared beside the angel, saying, "Listen to your heart. Ba-boom!"

"Dean, focus," interjected Ariel as he stared at the mocking little girl-demon. "Whatever you're seeing, it's not real..."

"Doesn't matter, still gonna die," he choked out, clutching his chest as his heart raced. Unnoticed by the gasping hunter, Ariel's face hardened and swirling white light ebbed from her shoulder blades. "Not today," she growled out, dropping to one knee next to him and pressing her hands against his chest, his back hitting the floor.

He gasped at the coolness of her fingers, which he could feel through his shirt, his eyes widening as her smokey white wings flared out, deliberately obscuring everything but the angel leaning over him. The light from her wings filled the room, and a wind kicked up, swirling around them both; Dean, even through the rising panic, felt something - power... energy... _something _- pouring out of her hands where they lay over his struggling heart.

"I can hold it back," she whispered, her pale eyes unfocused, and Dean stared up at her, gasping. "Just hold on, Dean..."

He could _almost _hear the Lilith hallucination chattering in the background, but he couldn't make out what she was saying. His heart was still racing, though not as fast as it had been, and the pain had faded; his breathing was surprisingly even, and he couldn't seem to look away from the woman leaning over him, keeping him alive though what seemed like will alone. There was a blue-white light pooling in her eyes, masking her pupils, that was strangely hypnotizing. He could _feel_ it as the terror, the mindless panic that had crippled him, was shoved back and locked up; he could almost see the cage of blue-white light that forced the fear back.

Long minutes seemed to pass, and then he gave a shuddering gasp, feeling the terror that had been so securely locked up by his angel suddenly vanish, and Ariel blinked down at him before drawing back slightly and rising to her feet.

Dean lay there, gasping for breath as his heart slowed naturally, and stared at her; her long black braids were caught up in a breeze he could no longer feel, and her wings were fully visible and partially extended, filling the room with a soft white light. She truly looked the part of an angel, right then. Not a warrior or a soldier or a fighter. Just an angel.

Then, she blinked again and straightened, and her wings dispersed in little spirals of light like a thousand glittering butterflies, and in a tone that, from anyone but an angel he'd have described as exasperated affection, said, "Next time, just _call _me, you stubborn man."

And then she was gone, and Dean let his head fall back with a choking, relieved sort of laugh.

.

...

.

"So, uh, what did you see? Near the end, I mean."

"Oh, besides a cop beating my ass?"

"Seriously," retorted Sam, his face curious.

Dean looked at his little brother as they leaned on the Impala sipping beer and thought about telling him about Ariel, and how close he'd come to being dead. About seeing Sam with yellow eyes. He bit his lip briefly, then said, "Howler monkeys. Whole roomful of 'em. Those things creep the hell out of me."

"Right."

"No, no... just the usual stuff, Sammy," he said, sipping his beer. "Nothing I couldn't handle."

* * *

><p><em>AN: So this isn't as long as the last chapter, but let's face it. 10,000 words per chapter is a bit high. I'm not sure how satisfied I am with this chapter, but it'll do I suppose. I was gonna cover Samhain too, but it didn't really fit my theme (nightmares) for this episode, you know? There should be some super-fun action in the next one, though. Probably.<br>_

_Please review! I love reviews._


	7. Harvest

_Standard disclaimer, Supernatural and all that entails belongs to not-me, etc etc._

* * *

><p><em>"This fight is just starting. And we are all gonna have a part to play." -John Winchester<em>

Bobby froze in the kitchen, just on the other side of the archway leading to the study; there was a stranger in front of his desk, leafing casually through one of his books and peering occasionally at the talismans and charms that adorned the room. She glanced up briefly as she crossed the room, her mouth twitching into a little_ (approving?) _smile as she moved across the elaborate Key of Solomon on the ceiling. Not a demon, then.

She was beautiful, and young, with smooth caramel skin and long braided black hair; dressed in dark blue-jeans and a vividly purple t-shirt, she seemed perfectly normal. Not that that necessarily meant anything. The old hunter got the strangest idea that he should recognize her, but there really wasn't much time to place the feeling; he grabbed the shotgun from where it lay against the wall and pointed it at her, stepping fully into the doorway.

"Who the hell are you?"

She paused, looking up from the thick tome she was holding, and pierced him with eyes the color of fine, pale jade. The stranger seemed to be looking right into him, and the feeling was more then a little unnerving; then she smiled, the expression warming up her eyes considerably.

"Bobby Singer," she mused, her voice like a jaguar in a cello, velvety smooth and almost comforting.

"I know who I am," he snapped, still sighting down the shotgun in his hands. "I asked who the hell you are? And what are you doin' in my house?"

The stranger put down the leather-bound tome and turned to face him fully, slender hands falling to her sides. As far as he could tell, she was unarmed.

"I'm Ariel," she said, and the shotgun lowered very slightly in recognition of the name. "And I thought I should introduce myself properly..." The angel trailed off a bit, eyes drifting to one side as a thought seemed to come to her. "Perhaps I should have knocked..."

"Ya think?"

"Quite often, yes," was the quick, matter-of-fact answer, and Bobby blinked, gun lowering further. For a moment, he thought she'd taken his sarcastic question seriously; Dean had suggested _(whined, really)_ that Castiel was rather obliviously straight-forward. The slight crinkling around her eyes, though, told a different story. She was teasing him. An _angel _was standing in his study, _teasing _him.

.

...

.

Bobby wondered how it had come to this. Granted, the life of a hunter was often filled with strange and bizarre occurrences. That was a given. But this... this was just _weird_.

Once he had been satisfied she was who _(and what) _she said she was, he'd lead the faintly smiling woman into the kitchen. That's when the strangeness started, really; not with the finding of an unfamiliar woman inside his house, but rather, shortly after when said woman leaped up to perch on the back of one of his kitchen chairs. _On the back of it._ Not the seat, but instead she'd planted her booted feet on the tallest part of the chair. She perched there, essentially crouching, like a friggin' bird, though how she kept it balanced was a complete mystery.

Ariel was staring at him, head tilted to one side, and he realized he'd zoned out while she was talking. "Sorry," he said. "Just trying to wrap my head around... all this." Bobby gestured broadly as he said it, and understanding flickered across her face.

"Hunters tend to take it better than most. You're actually doing quite well," she said, shifting so her feet were flat on the seat of the chair and she was sitting on the back. It didn't even wobble with the movement. He looked up from his near-glare towards the chair to find her watching him, bemused.

"You have questions," she said, though Bobby didn't think she was referring to his preoccupation with her choice of seating.

"Damn right I do. What are your plans for Dean?" Ariel blinked once, then sighed.

"I should have expected you to first ask those questions I cannot answer..."

"Can't, or won't?" he snapped.

She didn't seem offended by the tone, and her answer was surprisingly swift and matter-of-fact. "Both, actually. Ignoring the fact that even I don't know all of the Host's current plan... If I told you what I _do _know, you would immediately rush off and tell Sam and Dean. They're not ready-"

Bobby cut her off, his temper getting the best of him. "Listen, lady, I don't know who you think you are, but those boys have been through enough. They're ready for-"

It was the angel's turn to cut him off, and her pale eyes sharpened slightly. "They're _not _ready, Bobby Singer. Dean is only _just _starting to recover from his time in the Pit, and Sam, though he's trying, still stands with one foot on a dark road that will lead nowhere but ruin. They're twisting in the wind, trying to catch their balance. Piling more information, more weight, upon them will only snap the rope holding them aloft."

Bobby blinked a few times, thinking over what she'd said and trying to ignore how he was suddenly vaguely intimidated by the ninety pound young woman sitting in his kitchen. They stared at each other for a long moment, then he asked, "So... how much of the crap on angels in my books is accurate?"

Her expression softened slightly and she leaned back almost imperceptibly, accepting the subject-change with grace.

"Not much, though the sections on how we communicate with humans was surprisingly complete. There are fewer types of angels then your books would have you believe, and we're not arranged into 'choirs'..."

.

...

.

Bobby had filled most of the pages on the legal-pad with scribbled notes by the time the sun began to creep towards the horizon. Information filled the pages, ranging from the hierarchy of Heaven _(including a brief description of each 'type' of angel, though she gave no names he didn't already know)_ to the best way to stop a wendigo in it's tracks, if you had no fire or silver. Along the margins and interspersed between paragraphs were diagrams and symbols, drawn in a curving, graceful hand from those few times the angel had snatched away his pen to add something.

Ariel rose to her feet as she answered his latest question _(they'd moved on to various beasts from the Pit, and how to deal with them), _only to quite suddenly go still, her pale eyes distant.

"Somethin' wrong?"

She didn't answer right away, her head tilted to one side like she was listening to something. "No... Dean and Sam are, hopefully, going to preserve another seal with their current 'job'," she said eventually, dragging out the first word and still staring towards the wall with an unfocused look in her eyes.

"Should I call 'em?"

"No, though I wouldn't try to stop you from doing so. It appears some of my brothers have orders to make contact with the Winchesters tomorrow afternoon. I imagine they may call _you, _before long." The angel finally fixed the elder hunter with a wide-eyed, intense stare, and added, "I would begin finding any and all information you can find on Samhain, were I you."

"Samhain. Got it. What are you gonna do?"

"Me?" Ariel smiled a bit impishly as she pushed her long braids back over her shoulder. "I'm going to see about lending a hand, of course. It was lovely to meet you, Bobby, but I'm afraid we'll have to pick this up again another time..."

And then she vanished with a feathery sort of rustle, leaving Bobby blinking in his abruptly empty kitchen. "_Angels_," he muttered with sudden understanding for Dean's bitching, glancing at the notes before pulling himself upright with a groan. He had research to do.

* * *

><p>"Hey, Bobby. Listen, we're on a friggin' witch hunt and the bitch is apparently trying to summon up some big..."<p>

Sam glanced over at Dean, who had trailed off; they were on their way to the high school to see what they could dig up on Tracy Davis. Dean's eyebrows had lifted in surprise.

"How the hell did you know that?" There was another pause following the startled question, and the surprise didn't fade. "Oh. That's... No, no, okay wha'd'ya got?"

"Uh huh... Uh huh... Yeah, Sammy pulled up most of that last night. You find anything, you know... _new_?"

.

...

.

Bobby rolled his eyes and said, "I dug up a few ways you can deal with this guy if he gets up here... Rituals and incantations and the like... But how about you boys stop the witch before it comes to that?"

_"That's the plan," _Dean said, and Bobby got the impression that the younger hunter wanted to ask about his angelic visitation.

"Good. Give me a call if things go to shit. I'll see what else I can dig up."

_"Alright. Thanks, Bobby."_

.

...

.

"What was that?"

"What was what?" Dean slid his phone back into the pocket of his jacket, one hand on the wheel as he pulled into the high school parking lot. Sam made a face, which his brother carefully ignored.

"You know what. What's going on with Bobby?"

"Nothin'. Apparently he had a celestial sort of visit yesterday. Got a heads-up about what we were hunting."

"Castiel?"

"Ariel."

"Why?"

"I dunno, Sammy. I didn't ask," came the short response, and then Dean was hopping out of the car, a sign that the conversation was over.

* * *

><p>Sam blinked, then drew his gun, snapping, "Who are you?" at the two men standing in their motel room.<p>

"Sam, Sam, wait!" called Dean, moving up quickly beside him. "It's Castiel."

"The angel," he clarified, and Sam lowered the gun, eyes widening. Eying the well-dressed black man standing by the window, Dean added, "Him I don't know."

Castiel turned, meeting the surprised and slightly awed gaze of the taller, younger Winchester. "Hello, Sam."

"Oh my god. Er, uh, I didn't mean to... sorry. It's an honor," sputtered Sam, stepping forward a bit and offering his hand. "Really, I-I've heard a lot about you."

Castiel stared at the hand as Dean shut the door, and, after a moments thought, shook it carefully. "And I, you."

"Sam Winchester," he said, clasping his hand between both of his own. "The boy with the demon blood." Sam blinked, taken aback by the 'greeting'. The angels hands were... not warm, but not cold either, and the blue eyes seemed to be looking right through him.

"Glad to hear you've ceased your extracurricular activities."

"Let's keep it that way," interjected the man by the window.

"Yeah, okay chuckles," cut in Dean before turning to Castiel. "Who's your friend?"

Instead of answering the question, Castiel asked, "This raising of Samhain... have you stopped it?"

"Why?"

"Dean, have you located the witch?"

"Yes, we've located the witch."

"And, is the witch dead?"

Sam, looking worried, said, "No, but-"

"We know who it is," Dean finished.

Castiel moved deeper into the room, saying, "Apparently, the witch knows who you are, too."

He picked up a small pouch from the end table. "This was inside the wall of your room. If we hadn't found it, surely one or both of you would be dead. Do you know where the witch is now?"

Dean turned and made a face at Sam before saying, "We're working on it."

"That's unfortunate."

"What do you care?"

Castiel glanced briefly towards the other man before answering. "The raising of Samhain is one of the 66 seals."

"So this is about your buddy Lucifer."

"Lucifer is no friend of ours," came the ominous voice from the window.

"It's just an expression," countered Dean, frowning slightly at the man's back.

Castiel redirected the conversation. "Lucifer cannot rise. The breaking of the seal must be prevented at all costs."

"Okay, great. Well, now that you're here, why don't you tell us where the witch is? We'll gank her, and everybody goes home."

Castiel looked slightly resigned. "We are not omniscient. This witch is very powerful. She's cloaked, even to our methods."

"Okay, well, we already know who she is," said Sam, still working through his awe at being in the presence of walking, talking angels. "So, if we work together-"

"Enough of this," interrupted the man by the window.

"Who are you and why should I care?" snapped Dean, clearly tired of the interruptions.

"This is Uriel," introduced Castiel, sounding like he didn't really want to. "He's what you might call... a specialist."

Uriel turned and moved closer to the others, his expression cold and almost mocking. "What kind of a specialist?" questioned Dean.

There was a long, heavy pause, and then Dean asked, "What are you going to do?"

"You... both of you, you need to leave this town immediately," said Castiel rather then answering.

"Why?"

"Because we're about to destroy it."

Sam and Dean exchanged surprised, horrified expressions, and then Dean turned back to the angels. "So this is your plan? You're going to smite the whole friggin' town?"

"We're out of time," said Castiel. "This witch has to die. The seal must be saved."

"There are a thousand people here," interjected Sam.

"1,214," corrected Uriel.

Sam was outraged. "And you're willing to kill them all?"

"This isn't the first time I've... purified a city."

Castiel, perhaps wanting to avoid an argument, said, "Look, I understand this is regrettable..."

"Regrettable," parroted Dean with sarcastic disbelief.

"We have to hold the line. Too many seals have broken already," continued Castiel.

"So you screwed the pooch on some seals, and now this town has to pay the price?"

"It's the lives of 1,000 against the lives of 6 billion. There's a bigger picture here."

"Right... 'cause, uh, you're bigger-picture kind of guys."

Castiel took a step closer to Dean, trying to impress upon him the seriousness of the situation. "Lucifer cannot rise. He does, and Hell rises with him. Is that something that you're willing to risk?"

Dean was looking slightly conflicted, so Sam interrupted. "We'll stop this witch before she summons anyone. Your seal won't be broken and no one has to die."

"We're wasting time with these mud monkeys," said Uriel, and Castiel turned away from Dean, saying, "I'm sorry. But we have our orders."

"No, you can't do this... You... you're angels. I mean, aren't you supposed to..." Sam faltered slightly at Uriel's derisive snicker. "You're supposed to show mercy."

"Says who?" mocked Uriel.

"We have no choice," added Castiel.

"Of course you have a choice," said Dean, studying Castiel carefully. "I mean, come on, what, you've never questioned a crap order? What are you both, just a couple of hammers?"

Castiel stiffened slightly under the questioning, and said, "Look, even if you can't understand it, have faith the plan is just."

"How can you even say that?" asked Sam. Whatever he'd thought angels were, this wasn't it.

Castiel turned slightly. "Because it comes from Heaven. That makes it just."

"It must be nice... to be so sure of yourselves..."

Castiel turned his eyes back to Dean. "Tell me something, Dean. When your father gave you and order, didn't you obey?"

Rather then answer, Dean said, "Sorry, boys, it looks like the plans have changed."

"You think you can stop us?" Uriel sounded slightly incredulous.

"No," said Dean, shaking his head and moving closer to the newest angel. "But if you're gonna smite this whole town... then you're gonna have to smite us with it because we are not leaving." He glanced back at Castiel, and added, "You went to the trouble of busting me out of hell. I figure I'm worth something to the man upstairs. You wanna waste me? Go ahead. See how he digs that."

"I will drag you out of here myself," Uriel all but snarled.

"Yeah, but you'll have to kill me. Then we're back to the same problem. I mean, come on. You're gonna wipe out a whole town for one little witch? Sounds to me like you're compensating for something."

Dean stared down the silent angel for a long moment then turned back to stand next to Castiel. "We can do this," he said. "We will find that witch. We will stop the summoning."

"Castiel, I will not let these-"  
>"Enough," snapped Castiel without looking at his counterpart, still meeting Dean's eyes.<p>

"I suggest you move quickly."

.

...

.

When they escaped the tension of the room, Dean was horrified to see that the Impala had been egged. He glared at it, and Sam made his way to the passenger side with a shake of his head.

"Astronaut!" he bellowed, glaring around the parking lot, and then dropped into the car, slamming the door with a scowl. Glancing at Sam, he found his brother turning the hex-bag over in his hands, looking disturbed.

"What?"

"Nothing," Sammy said, shaking his head. Dean kept his eyes on his brother, and Sam cracked, huffing out an almost-laugh.

"I thought they'd be different," he said finally.

"Who, the angels?"

"Yeah."

Sam hadn't looked at him, and Dean tried to soften the disappointment. It probably would have gone better had Ariel been there, but the guardian had been suspiciously absent. "Well... I tried to tell ya."

"I just-" Sam cut himself off, then tried again, eyes still on the pouch of skeevy witch-mojo. "I mean, I thought they'd be righteous," he said finally, shooting Dean a kicked-puppy sort of look.

He opened his mouth, but another voice interjected from the back seat. "_Self_-righteous, anyway."

Both Sam and Dean startled, jerking around, and the elder hunter made a face as he lightly punched the steering-wheel, his heart racing despite immediately recognizing the voice.

"_Dammit_, Ariel..." Dean growled, eyes closed.

"Sorry," she said, sounding amused and not at all sorry. "Just couldn't help myself."

Sam was gaping at the young woman sitting in the middle of the bench seat, hazel-green eyes flicking briefly to Dean who looked like he was trying to force down the sudden surge of adrenaline they'd both received.

The angel the back of the car stuck a slender hand over the seat, amusement evident in her expression and a little smile playing about her mouth. "Hello, Sam. We haven't been properly introduced yet."

Despite being more then a little disenchanted by the angels he'd just met, and more then a little wary of this _particular_ angel, considering their last 'meeting', Sam took her hand reflexively; her hand was extremely cold, almost like ice in comparison to Castiel's.

"Uh, hi," he said, blinking as the pale jade eyes seemed to look right into him; he could see Dean watching the exchange from the drivers seat, a strange look on his face.

"Don't lose faith, Sam," she said suddenly, her smile turning sad while her voice dropped in volume, and Sam swallowed as he released her hand. Beside him, Dean grew quite still, and the younger brother resisted the urge to start rambling. "My Father... He hears _all_ prayers, even if it seems He doesn't, even if He seems to be ignoring you. _Even... _if my brothers do their level best to be as obnoxious as possible."

The last bit made Dean snort, and he stuck his key in the ignition; the Impala rumbled to life, breaking the silence that had fallen. Ariel blinked, head tilted to one side and her eyes suddenly wide. "Huh," she said, obviously choosing to tactfully ignore the shocked expression on Sam's face. "That's... different."

"What's that?" asked Dean, glancing at her in the rear view mirror as he pulled out of the parking lot.

"I've never been inside a moving vehicle before. The rumbling is... I think I like it." Dean flashed the bemused angel in the backseat a wide, pleased grin, also doing his best to let Sam get over his apparent shock; inwardly, he was glad Ariel had arrived when she had. He didn't have faith like Sammy did, but despite that, he didn't want his brother to lose it. Dean wasn't entirely sure he could have found the right thing to say to maintain a faith he himself didn't feel.

"That's my baby," he said, patting the dashboard.

Beside him, Sam was toying with the hex-bag, startled expression gone. "So," Dean said, ignoring the silent, thoughtful presence in the backseat. "You gonna figure out a way to find this witch or are you just gonna sit there fingering your bone?"

There was a sound of amusement from behind him, and Dean glanced at the rear view in time to see Ariel making a face at him. He flashed her another grin and turned back in time to see Sam put on his 'thinking face', even as a soft rustling announced Ariel's departure from the moving vehicle.

* * *

><p>Castiel stood next to the park bench where Uriel sat, his blue eyes following the costumed children as they moved, laughing, down the path.<p>

"The decision's been made," he said, hands clasped behind his back.

"By a mud monkey," came the derisive response.

"You shouldn't call them that," Castiel said, looking away from his brother.

"Oh, that's what they are. Savages, just plumbing on two legs."

Castiel turned his eyes down to Uriel, his tone vaguely reprimanding. "You're close to blasphemy." A long pause, filled with birdsong and the distant sound of laughing children, met his statement. "There is a reason we were sent to save him," continued the warrior of Heaven. "He has potential. He may succeed here..."

He dropped back onto the bench, elbows resting on his knees and his hands together supporting his chin."At any rate, it's out of our hands."

"It doesn't have to be," Uriel said beside him.

"And what would you suggest?"

Uriel's voice was increasingly cold when he answered. "That we drag Dean Winchester out of here, then we blow this insignificant pinprick off the map."

"You know our true orders," retorted Castiel, inwardly shocked at the suggestion, though it didn't quite show. "Are you prepared to _disobey_?"

They stared at each other for a long moment, and then a third voice chimed in behind them, sounding more then a little irritated. "I certainly hope not."

Castiel was surprised, not having sensed her arrival, and whirled to stare at his sister, his movement mimicked by an equally surprised Uriel; Ariel was standing behind the bench, just a few feet away with her hands casually in the pockets of her jeans. Her hard-eyed gaze, though, was settled on Uriel, not Castiel, and he found himself relaxing slightly.

For whatever reason, Ariel's disapproval made him... uncomfortable.

"Ariel-"

"I don't want to hear your opinions regarding our Father's youngest children, Uriel," she said, her tone sharp and chiding. Uriel tensed at the unspoken reprimand, and Castiel felt a surge of something... relief, maybe... that her anger was focused elsewhere.

"And keep your hands off my charges, or you'll answer to me." Uriel nodded his assent, though Castiel noted that his brothers eyes were hard and angry. Ariel studied the pair of them for a long moment, offered Castiel a brief, wry sort of half-smile, then left with a swift beat of her wings.

* * *

><p>Dean froze, green eyes wide as he took in the sight of Sammy trying to exorcise the demon. With his mind. Again. He'd sworn not to do that anymore, and despite the argument about it in the car on the way over, Dean thought he'd gotten through to him. Apparently not.<p>

And it looked like it wasn't working too well. The demon was staggering towards his little brother, who had one hand outstretched and an expression on intense concentration on his face; blood oozed from his nose, and his breath was coming in short gasps. Sam saw him, where he stood at the end of the hall, but he didn't stop.

"No!" came a sudden cry, both outraged and horrified, and then Ariel was pushing past Dean in swift, almost feline movements; both Sam and the demon, who Dean could see was oozing black smoke, seemed to pause, and then the angel dove at Samhain, practically growling. It managed to spin in place, and Sam staggered back with wide, surprised eyes, dropping his hand and releasing his power as the demon's focus shifted.

Ariel ducked under a heavy-handed blow, moving almost too fast to follow, and slashed at the demon with the long, slightly curved silvery sword in her right hand; the weapon grazed the demon's cheek as he leaned back to avoid it, and the cut seemed to burn, flickering briefly with red light. They were both silent, though Samhain bore a snarl on his face as he shoved her back, sending her flying down the hall, towards Dean; she twisted in the air and landed on the balls of her feet, the fingertips of her free hand touching the ground for balance and her back to the shocked elder hunter, then threw herself back into the fight in a full sprint. There was a rustle, and she disappeared between one step and the next, reappearing directly behind the surprised demon and apparently losing none of her momentum.

The sword slid smoothly into Samhain's back, and the pair went down in a heap with Ariel keeping him pinned using her sword.

The fight, for all it's abruptly explosive violence, seemed to be finished, but Ariel's voice was snapping out, low and furious in a language neither brother understood, and the demon stepped up his struggles despite the flickering red light around the blade; Ariel had one hand planted on the back of the thrashing demon's head _(the other keeping an iron grip on the sword)_, Samhain started to burn, then, red light boiling up from the inside out, and he was screaming, though if it was rage or pain, they couldn't tell.

When it was over, when Ariel finally fell silent and the demon had stopped burning, she stood up somewhat shakily and stared over her shoulder at Sam for a moment_ (he flinched) _before turning to Dean. Her expression was a mixture of almost heartbreaking sadness and resignation; there was a rustling sound as she disappeared _(taking the sword with her)_, leaving Sam and Dean to stare at each other across the quiet and still body of the now vanquished demon.

* * *

><p><em>...One Day After Halloween<em>

Sam was alone in the room, silently packing and trying not to think about the disappointment he'd seen in both Dean and Ariel the night before. It was bad enough, his big brother giving him that sad, almost betrayed look, but somehow it was even worse on the face of an angel. Like she'd expected better. Like _God_ expected better...

A cold voice behind him had the young hunter whirling, pulled from his introspection. "Tomorrow is November 2nd," said Uriel, sitting on the floral-patterned green sofa in the corner, watching him. "That's an anniversary for you, right?"

Sam swallowed, more then a little nervous and his heart pumping from the sudden spike of adrenaline as he asked, "What are you doing here?"

"It's the day Azazel killed your mother. And, twenty-two years later, your girlfriend too," mused the dark-skinned angel. "Must be difficult to bear," he added, with no hint of empathy in his voice. "Yet you brazenly use the power he gave you, his profane blood pumping through your veins."

"Excuse me?" snapped Sam, temper flaring.

"You were told not to use your abilities."

"What was I supposed to do? That demon would have killed me, and my brother, and _everyone_," he justified. Apparently it didn't matter that he hadn't actually finished off the demon, that he'd only just barely been able to hold him off until Ariel arrived...

"You were told _not to_," repeated Uriel with a little shake of his head, his dark eyes hard.

"If Samhain had gotten loose in this town-"

"Been warned, twice now," interrupted the angel.

"You know... my brother was right about you. You _are _dicks," said Sam, glaring at the dismissive angel. Uriel turned slowly, his expression chilling, and there was a whooshing rustle; Sam flinched back as Uriel appeared, standing rather close in front of him with a coldly menacing look on his face.

"The only reason you're still alive, Sam Winchester, is because you've been useful. The moment that ceases to be true," he said, "The second you become more trouble then you're worth... one word... one... and I will turn you to dust."

Uriel stared him down for a long moment, and Sam tried to swallow the unpleasant lump in his throat even as the angel backed off a few steps, saying, "As for your brother, tell him that maybe he should climb off that high horse of his." Sam's brow furrowed slightly, and Uriel added, "Ask Dean... what he remembers from Hell."

There was another loud rustling sound, and once again Sam was alone in the motel; he sucked in a breath and tried to calm his racing heart even as he wondered what Uriel had been getting at.

* * *

><p>Dean sat on a bench in the sunlight, watching small children playing on the colorful equipment, when a soft rustle interrupted his thoughts.<p>

"Let me guess," he said, identifying the newly arrived angel out of the corner of his eye. "You're here for the 'I told you so.'"

There was a pause, and then a soft, gravely, "No."

Dean looked over, inwardly surprised. "Well, good, 'cause I'm really not that interested." The angel on the next bench over looked... well, a little tired, actually. "I'm not here to judge you, Dean."

"Then why are you here?"

Castiel was watching the children, and he inhaled slowly before saying, "Our orders-"

"Yeah, you know, I've had about enough of these orders of yours," Dean interrupted, irritated and tired and more then a little angry.

"Our orders," Castiel said again, raising his voice a bit and turning blue eyes to the hunter. "Were not to stop the summoning of Samhain. They were to do whatever you told us to do."

Dean blinked, then leaned forward, arms braced on his knees. "Your orders... were to follow my orders?" he asked, disbelief clearly evident.

"It was a test," clarified the angel. "To see how you would perform under... battlefield conditions, you might say." Again, Castiel looked away, towards the park. Dean stared, not sure how to respond to this revelation.

"It was a witch," he said. "Not the Tet Offensive." To his shock, Castiel actually chuckled, a smile appearing on the normally impassive face as his blue eyes followed a small blond child racing towards the swings.

"So, I uh, failed your test, huh?" Dean said to cover his surprise. "I get it. But you know what?" There was a pause, and Dean saw Castiel watching him from the corner of his eye. "If you were to wave that... magic, time-traveling wand of yours and we had to do it all over again, I'd make the same call."

Castiel was looking at him directly when he finished, expression unreadable, and Dean continued, feeling that it needed to be said. "'Cause, see, I don't know what's gonna happen when these seals are broken. Hell, I don't know what's gonna happen tomorrow." The hunter turned from the piercing blue-eyed gaze to look out at the park. "But what I do know is that this here, these kids, the swings, the trees, all of it... is still here because of my brother and me."

When he turned back to the angel, Castiel was still wearing that unreadable expression, though his eyes were still fixed on Dean.

"You misunderstand me, Dean," he said finally. "I'm not like what you think. I was praying that you would choose to save the town."

Dean's expression was a mix of surprise and half-hearted disbelief. "You were?"

"These people," said the angel, leaning forward to mirror Dean's posture, "They're all my Father's creations. They're works of art." Dean blinked, even as Castiel gazed off into the park once again.

"And yet," he added with an almost-sigh, "Even though you stopped Samhain, the seal was broken, and we are one step closer to Hell on Earth for _all _creation. And that's not an expression, Dean." Dean shifted uncomfortably as Castiel turned his gaze back to him. "It's literal. You of all people should... appreciate what that means."

The pair stared at each other for a long moment and Dean tried not to picture 'hell on earth', and then Castiel said, "I'll tell you something, if you promise not to tell another soul..."

Dean fought the strange, sudden urge to smile; Ariel had said something very similar before answering his questions about angels and 'the Time Before.' It never occurred to the hunter that it was probably a little strange, angels of the Lord confiding secrets in him, a human.

"Okay."

"I'm not, uh..." The angel looked down, and Dean was surprised to see him apparently searching for the words. "A hammer, as you say. I have questions. I... I have doubts. I don't _know _what is right and what is wrong, anymore..."

Whatever Dean had been expecting, this wasn't it. He swallowed against his suddenly dry throat; Castiel's conviction had seemed so... unshakable. This was... more then a little jarring.

"...Whether you passed or failed, here," continued the angel, apparently oblivious to Dean's shock. "But, in the coming months, you will have more decisions to make." The hunter looked up, finding a surprisingly sympathetic look on the other man's face. "I don't envy the weight that's on your shoulders, Dean. I truly don't."

Dean stared for a long moment, trying to read the angels expression, and then he made the mistake of looking out towards the park for an instant; when he looked back, Castiel was gone. Dean leaned back against the bench, wondering about their conversation. Despite the serious tone of their dialogue, Dean found himself actually relieved to find Castiel wasn't, as he had told Sam, a dick. The hunter pursed his lips in thought, and gave in to a sudden urge after looking around to make sure nobody was watching him.

"Uh, Ariel? Just a heads up, but you may want to look in on Cas."

No feathery rustle followed his whispered statement, which was fine since he hadn't actually wanted to summon the guardian; he just hoped she got the message. After all, if anyone understood about troubled little brothers, it was Dean Winchester.

* * *

><p><em>AN: Bonus internet points for anyone who caught my extremely vague reference to The Prophecy. (Oh dear, I'm not showing my age, am I? It's not so much a reference as borrowed imagery. That counts!)<em>

_I originally intended to cover S04E08 - Wishful Thinking, too, but there was just so much angelic fun in the halloween episode that I figured it was better not to drag it out. __**Review! Do it! You totally want to.  
><strong>_

_ps, The 'jaguar in a cello' bit is not mine. I once saw someone use that phrase to describe Benedict Cumberbatch's voice (if you don't know who that is, I feel sad for you). Anyway, Ariel doesn't sound like Benedict, but in my mind, her voice is rather lower on the register then the average woman. Think Kathleen Turner.  
><em>


	8. Aspirations

_Wow. So so sorry about the extensive delay. I hit some writers block around about the middle of this chapter, but then I figured, as a reward (for you) for living through the END OF THE WORLD, I would challenge myself to push through my block. I'm not **entirely** happy with this chapter, but it'll do. Please do review._

_Standard disclaimer, Supernatural and all that entails belongs to not-me, etc etc._

* * *

><p><em>"My superiors have begun to question my sympathies." -Castiel<em>

Castiel turned his eyes back to the park, inwardly surprised at the lack of cursing from Dean on the next bench over. The hunter was usually quite irritated _(and vocal)_ when Castiel vanished; that the angel was still there half the time made no difference when the human was not aware of the fact.

As he watched a young woman push a small child on the swings, Castiel thought about his predicament. He wasn't sure exactly when the idea of 'acceptable casualties' had become so... _abhorrent_... but someone upstairs had noticed. The Host did nothing at random, and assigning Uriel to work with him was a clear sign. A sign of what, exactly, he wasn't quite sure.

"Uh, Ariel? Just a heads up, but you may want to look in on Cas."

Castiel was jerked from his contemplation by Dean's whispered words; the angel turned his head to stare at the hunter, who thought he was alone, as Dean settled back on the bench with an odd look on his face. A long moment passed, so long that Castiel thought for a moment that the guardian hadn't heard, but then he felt a familiar presence on the bench next to him.

He turned away from Dean and looked over to find Ariel sitting comfortably next to him, one arm bent over the back of the bench and her legs crossed as she watched the humans in the park. She didn't say anything; she just sat there and let the somehow weighty silence drag out.

"Ariel."

"Hello, Castiel," she said, jade eyes flicking over to him.

"I do not know why Dean called you," Castiel said, and he could hear the confusion in his own voice as he glanced back at the tired looking hunter. When he looked back, Ariel was smiling, having turned to face him directly.

"He's worried about you."

Her voice was calmly matter-of-fact when she said it, like it was obvious. Castiel blinked. It was a possibility he hadn't considered. "Why?"

Her smile turned wry, and she tilted her head to peer around him at Dean, who was pulling himself to his feet. "I don't know. I stopped listening when you asked him to keep a secret." Castiel found his mouth _(Jimmy's mouth) _had gone rather dry for some reason, and he swallowed reflexively. It hadn't even occurred to him that Ariel might be watching. If it had, it certainly wouldn't have occurred to him that she'd let him discuss anything with _Dean_ in private. She was, after all, fiercely protective of the Winchesters.

"Oh."

They sat quietly for a moment, with Castiel staring down at his hands feeling, strangely, like he was about to be reprimanded. Finally, her voice soft and vaguely concerned, she said, "You know you can talk to me, don't you, little brother?"

His gaze flashed over to her at the title, and found Ariel's pale jade eyes fixed searchingly on him.

"I..."

When he trailed off, she turned her eyes back to the park and slouched a bit, looking every inch the comfortably lounging human; had she been visible, none of the humans in the park would have given her a second glance. Her eyes followed a young, laughing couple strolling hand in hand down the path next to the pair of benches. After a moment, she reached up with one hand and pulled the long, slender black feather out of the braid next to her face, turning it over so it caught the light with an iridescent sort of glimmer. It was strangely familiar, that feather.

"This is yours, you know," she said, as if she'd heard his thoughts, and Castiel turned to stare at her.

"When we first learned to fly, we slipped our minders and came down to Earth. The storms had finally settled, and it was beginning to resemble the Earthly Garden that Father had intended," she said, voice pitched low. Castiel found himself hanging on her words, mesmerized by the rare picture of a time he couldn't remember.

"We decided to compress ourselves down into physical shapes. To feel the wind. To touch the water and smell the green life springing up..." Ariel turned the feather _(his feather)_ over again, and Castiel followed it with his eyes.

"We were flying. Racing through a forest full of strange new plants and trees, and the wind, which we hadn't ever really flown with before, picked up and jerked us both off course. I managed to land, but you clipped your right wing on a tree and tumbled down a deep ravine before you could get your feet under you..." Ariel turned to look at him, then, and Castiel blinked once at the flash of what could only be remembered worry mixed with guilt on her face.

"You weren't injured, but you managed to pull a half-dozen feathers or so. You were... _upset_. You thought Gabriel and Michael would be angry with you. With us. You thought that the missing feathers would show, even after we relaxed back into our natural shape. It took me quite some time to calm you down. I ended up having to work the feathers back in... but I kept one. This one."

She motioned with the feather, and her pale eyes slide over to his right. A little smile curled her lips, and she added, "And I gave you one of mine in exchange."

Castiel gave a start and turned to follow her gaze; he had to stretch out his wings and crane his neck slightly, but there, in the bend of his right wing, was a narrow streak of white. It wasn't as obvious as it would have been, had they been pressed into a physical shape, or if he'd flared his grace and made them visible to human eyes, as Ariel so often did... but the evidence was clear. How he'd never noticed it before, he wasn't sure; perhaps it was because, unlike Ariel, he didn't often fight using his wings as both a shield and a weapon. Or perhaps it was hidden by the very thing that had hidden the memories themselves...

He focused a bit, and his wings solidified slightly. Ariel's feather was foreign. He should have been able to feel it, but he couldn't. It was meshed with his own feathers as if it belonged there; Castiel flexed his wings briefly, staring at the soft white evidence of his childhood for a long moment.

When he turned back, letting his wings collapse back into their usual, incorporeal state, he found Ariel watching him with an unreadable expression on her face; the long, black feather was stuck back in her hair.

"Will you fly with me?" she asked suddenly, and Castiel found himself nodding before he'd even really registered the question. Ariel smiled, her pale eyes brightening so much that Castiel was sure, if she'd been in her true form, that she'd be quite literally glowing. Then, his sister didn't even rise to her feet... She just shot up into the sky with a quick, sudden beat of her wings, and Castiel took off after her without really thinking about it; like it was a long forgotten reflex to race after her...

She was _fast_, he realized, as he chased her across the sky. Faster then he'd been aware. Ariel kept pulling ahead effortlessly, then dropping back with a grin; she skimmed the clouds around him, almost dancing on the air. They'd been silent since they left the park, and suddenly, as she spiraled around him with the tips of her wings brushing his face, she called out, "Come on, little brother. You've gotten slow in your old age."

They moved faster, then, climbing up into the upper atmosphere before dropping down to weave their way between mountain peaks somewhere on North America's west coast. Castiel couldn't catch her, though he realized he could come close if he _really _tried. It was... familiar, this spiraling, erratic race. Almost painfully so. He wondered, as he chased his sister through the Earthly Garden of their Father, if there was any way to regain his lost memories, or if he'd only ever get echoes like this one.

* * *

><p>"It just doesn't make any sense, Dean. I mean, why would Uriel tell me you remembered Hell if you didn't?" Sam asked, eyes fixed on his brother as the older hunter downed another shot.<p>

A minute flash of irritation flickered across Dean's expression, and he countered quickly with, "Maybe because he's a dick. Might have something to do with it."

Rolling his eyes, Sam said, "Maybe, but he's still an _angel_," as if that meant something. Maybe it did.

"Yeah, an angel who was ready to level an entire town," was the fast, whispered and vaguely growling response. "Look, I don't know what-"

Dean cut himself off, making a face as the overly chipper waiter interrupted with, "Radical. What else can I get you guys?"

"Uh, I think we're good," said Sam, sensing _(correctly) _that Dean was in no mood to deal with cheerful waiters.

"Yeah? You want to try a couple of fryer bombs? Or a chipotle chili changa?"

"No, no, we're - we're still good," cut in Dean, eying the man.

"Okay, awesome!" he said cheerily before wandering off again. Dean watched him go with a strange look, then shot his brother an eloquent glance that said, '_Is that guy for real?'_

Sam was looking down, and heaved a short sigh as the waiter left. "Sam, honestly, I have no idea why Uriel told you what he did, okay?" Dean said, closing the statement with another shot.

The younger hunter watched him toss back the alcohol, eyes following his movements as the shot glass hit the table. "Right," he said, not sounding at all convinced.

"What?"

"Okay. Fine. Then look me in the eye and tell me you don't remember a thing from your time down under."

Dean looked very briefly incredulous, then leaned in a bit and, with an irritated little half-smile, said, "I don't remember a thing from my time down under." When Sam rolled his eyes and glanced away, he added more emphatically_ (and angrily), _"I don't remember, Sam!"

"Look, Dean, I just want to help."

Still sounding angry, Dean said, "You know everything I do. Okay? That's all there is." Again, he cut himself off and leaned back as the waiter re-entered the conversation.

"Outstanding. Dessert time? Huh? Am I right?"

Looking _(and sounding) _extremely annoyed, Dean looked at the man and said, "Dude."

Seemingly not hearing the warning sort of tone, the waiter continued. "Listen, bros. You have _got _to try our ice cream extreme. It's extreme."

"Uh, no extremities, please. Just the -"

"Check?" he interrupted cheerfully, producing the slip of paper with a flourish and putting it on the table. "All right, awesome."

"Thanks..."

Again Dean watched the annoyingly cheerful waiter until he was out of hearing range, then he looked at his brother and said, "All right, so, where do we go from here?"

Sam looked for a moment like he wanted to carry on their previous conversation, but then he relented and reached down for his laptop.

"I'm not sure. Uh, looks like it's been pretty quiet lately. No signs of demon activity, no omens or portents I can see."

"That's good news for once," Dean said, sipping his beer after watching a woman wearing a tight sweater wander past.

"Yeah, just the typical smattering of crank UFO sightings and one possible vengeful spirit. Here, check this out," Sam said, turning his laptop around and pushing it across the table. Dean took it, but didn't really look, instead picking up his beer again.

"Uh... Up in Concrete, Washington, eyewitness reports of a ghost that's been haunting the showers of a women's health facility." Dean, who'd been drinking, choked on the beer. "The victim claims that the ghost threw her down a flight of stairs."

While he'd been finishing his summary, Dean glanced at the laptop, closed it, and fished out his wallet in order to pay the check. "I can see you're very interested," said Sam, watching his brother with resigned amusement.

"Women, showers," said Dean, tossing a handful of bills down on the check. "We gotta save these people."

* * *

><p>"The others are getting worried... The seals are breaking faster than we anticipated, and our charges always seem to be right in the middle," Elijah said as he and Ariel strolled through the Garden. Behind them, well out of earshot, Joshua tended to a plant formed of swirling blue-green light with a peaceful expression on his face.<p>

Ariel pursed her lips briefly, looking thoughtful. "Perhaps... perhaps our charges are there because they are meant to assist in the saving of their world. It cannot be coincidence, their proximity."

Elijah raised his eyebrows, having not considered that. "That's... Many of the ones nearest _are _already aware of the supernatural. Some hunters. Psychics, mediums, and the like... Shall I tell the others to make themselves known to their charges? To encourage them to be more... involved...?"

"Yes, I-" Ariel cut herself off and staggered, gasping suddenly as if she couldn't get enough air. Elijah caught her by the shoulders, eyes wide.

"Ariel? Sister, what is it?"

"Sam," she gasped, staring in shock towards the Earth. "Someone... He's _dead_."

Elijah was conflicted. On the one hand, Sam was part of the First Bloodline, and therefore should be protected... but... on the other hand... The hunter was tainted by demonic blood, veiled from his guardian's sight by his own actions. He was a _menace_. A threat...

"How?"

Ariel glanced sharply up at him, as if sensing his inner debate about the death of her charge, and he resisted the urge to wince under her accusing glare.

"It shouldn't have happened like that," she said, sounding slightly strangled, her long fingers gripping his forearms. "Someone is messing about with... wishes? I don't..." The guardian shook her head as if to clear it and straightened up a bit; Elijah tentatively let go of her shoulders, as she seemed steady enough. "Have the others engage their charges. They are to do nothing to risk the blood lines, of course, but perhaps with a bit more back and forth, we can yet stem this tide."

"Of course," Elijah said with a nod, looking worried still.

"Stay safe, brother," Ariel said by way of farewell, managing a half-hearted little smile before she threw herself down towards the Earth.

Elijah watched her go as long as he could, before leaving the Garden himself to do the task he'd been assigned. A frown marred his face, even as he approached the closest of his brothers; as dangerous as Sam Winchester was, Ariel was right about one thing. He was not meant to die yet.

* * *

><p>Sam inhaled sharply, eyes snapping open; over him, wide jade eyes widened and jerked back in surprise, and the younger Winchester blinked a few times. He was laying on his back on the sidewalk, and Ariel was leaning over him looking startled.<p>

"Ariel?" he asked with a tiny waver in his voice, feeling strange and confused.

"You were dead," she said, sounding a bit shocked and shifting back on her heels; the angel reached out and touched the center of his chest with the tips of her fingers, as if verifying that he was, in fact, breathing.

She blinked once, then helped him to his feet, and Sam fought the absurd urge to blush as she handed him his shoes, which had apparently been blown off. "You should be more careful, Sam. Even angels have limits on what we can heal..."

The bell over the door behind him jingled, and Sam turned in time to see Hope walk out, looking slightly confused; a soft rustle made him whirl back, but Ariel was gone. He stared at the empty space for a moment, then shook himself and turned back to the restaurant as the bell jingled a second time.

.

...

.

Sam sidestepped to let Audrey and her extremely sunburnt parents pass, her teddy sporting a bandage over the hole in the back of it's head. Dean folded up his newspaper, his green eyes following the little girl with an amused half-smile as he stood up.

"Well, uh, coin's melted down," Sam said, slightly distracted by his strange encounter with what he'd thought was _Dean's _guardian angel the previous day. "It shouldn't cause any more problems."

Dean nodded a bit. "Audrey's parents are back from Bali. Looks like all the wishes are gone. And so are we, " he said, starting towards where the Impala was parked. Sam followed, his mind distracted enough that he didn't notice right away when Dean stopped.

"Hang on a second," said the elder brother.

Sam turned, slightly concerned by the look on Dean's face. "What?"

There was a long pause as Dean seemed to struggle briefly with himself before saying, "You were right." Sam blinked once, and when Dean didn't continue, asked, "About what?"

There was another, somehow more weighty pause, and then, sounding almost resigned, Dean said, "I shouldn't have lied to you... I do remember everything that happened to me in the Pit." Sam stared for a moment, trying to understand why his brother looked so guilty. "Everything."

After a moment in which Dean seemed unable to meet Sam's gaze for more than a few seconds at a time, Sam said, "So tell me about it."

Dean's attention focused, then, his expression going curiously blank, like a wall had gone up. "No."

"Uh-"

"I won't lie anymore. But I'm not gonna talk about it."

Sam was thrown off for a moment, and some distance down the dock behind Dean two children laughed as they raced across the wood. "Dean, look, you can't just shoulder this thing alone. You got to let me help," he said finally, his voice sympathetic.

Dean stared at his brother for a moment as he tried to decide what to say; he already had help, and he couldn't... _wouldn't_... try to lean on Sammy too. Not for this. Sam hadn't been there, he hadn't ever been touched by Hell. Not really. And if Dean had his way, he never would be, beyond what that yellow-eyed bastard had done. Ariel had _been _there, though; she'd slogged through the Pit, had faced every sort of monster Hell could throw at you... So the thought of unloading some of his darkness on the guardian didn't hurt him like it did if it was Sam instead, and not just because it was her job and she'd been more effective at forcing the issue than his brother. So he did what he did best. He evaded the chick-flick moment Sam wanted with an almost-but-not-quite-true rebuttal.

"How? Do you really think that a little heart-to-heart, some sharing and caring, is gonna change anything? Hmm? Somehow... heal me? I'm not talking about a bad day here."

"I know that."

Something in Sam's expression made him continue, even though he'd wanted to just leave it at that.

"The things that I saw... there aren't _words_. There is no forgetting. There's no making it better. Because it is right here..." Dean said, his voice low and almost hoarse, and tapped his left temple. "_Forever_." The elder hunter paused, and Sam swallowed, not knowing what to say even as the vague, broken confession spilled out of his brother. "You wouldn't understand. And I could never make you understand. So I am sorry. "

* * *

><p>Ariel hovered protectively<em> (and invisibly) <em>behind Sam and Dean as they approached the demon sitting at the bar. Almost as if he sensed her angry presence, Dean snapped, "Well, you got a lot of nerve showing up anywhere _near _me."

"I just have some info, and then I'm gone," countered Ruby.

"What is it," Sam asked immediately, and the demon turned her eyes to the taller brother.

"I've been hearing some whispers-"

"Ooh, great, demon whispers. That's reliable," interrupted Dean, pissed by her very presence, and stalked around Sam to a bar stool. He shot Sam an irritated and incredulous glance as he sat, finding Sam listening intently to the demon as she continued.

"Girl named Anna Milton escaped from a locked ward yesterday," she said, unaware of the invisible angel drawing back in shocked recognition. "The demons seem pretty keen on finding her. Apparently some real heavy hitters turned out for the Easter egg hunt."

"Why? Who is she?" Sam asked as Dean downed half his drink.

"No idea, but I'm thinking that she's important, 'cause the order is to capture her alive." Sam blinked in surprise, and Dean gave a twitch as a faint, almost echoed rustle sounded from beside him. He glanced over, but there was no angel there, of either the furious or stoic variety.

"I just figured that whatever the deal is, you might want to find this girl before the demons do."

Sam paused, then turned to Dean. "Look, maybe we _should _check it out."

Dean gave his brother a hard stare, then turned a sarcastic tone on Ruby. "Actually, we're working a case. But _thanks_."

"What case," she asked, sounding disbelieving.

"Uh, we've got leads. Big leads."

It was Ruby's turn to counter with sarcasm. "Sounds _dangerous_."

"Yeah, well, it sure ain't goosechasing after some chick who for all we know doesn't even exist, just because you say she's important," Dean said, with more than a little bite in his tone. Sam stood half-way between them, looking exasperated as they argued.

"I'm just delivering the news, you can do whatever you want with it. Far as I'm concerned, I told you, I'm done," snapped Ruby, and twisted off her bar stool as Dean threw up his hands in a, 'well good for you' motion.

Sam caught her arm before she could storm off, and said, "Wait wait wait... this hospital Anna escaped from..." Seemingly oblivious to Dean turning another glare on him, Sam continued, "It got a name?"

.

...

.

"Can I get a copy of the missing persons report?" Sam said into his phone. Dean briefly tightened his grip on the steering wheel, looking annoyed. "Great. Okay. Thanks."

Hanging up, Sam said, "Well, Anna Milton's definitely real."

"Don't mean the case is real. And this hospital's a three-day drive." Sam turned a bit in his seat to watch his brother.

"We've driven further for less, Dean." Dean shook his head, closing his eyes very briefly. "You got something to say, say it."

"Oh, I'm saying it - this sucks."

His tone matching Dean's annoyed expression, Sam said, "You're not pissed we're going after the girl. You're pissed Ruby threw us the tip."

"Right. 'Cause as far as you're concerned, the hell-bitch is practically family. Yeah, boy, something major must've happened while I downstairs, 'cause I come back, and - and you're BFF with a demon?"

"I told you, Dean, she helped me go after Lilith."

"Well, thanks for the thumbnail - real vivid. You want to fill in a little detail?"

Sounding almost nothing like the Sam he'd known before the Pit, Sam snarked, "Sure, Dean, let's trade stories. You first. How was Hell? Don't spare the details."

Dean just barely managed to suppress a flinch, his hands tightening slightly on the wheel at his little brothers words. He fell silent and stared ahead at the road; the implication that Sam was making, that his few months with Ruby compared at all to his time in Hell was, not just blindingly idiotic for its inaccuracy _(because, really, what could have __**possibly **__happened to compare to __**Hell**__)_, but rather hurtful.

* * *

><p>"But it's-"<p>

"I know who it is, Chloe!" Ariel snapped, interrupting. The others fell silent at the tone, glancing towards Elijah as if they expected him to argue. Ariel flexed her wings briefly, then turned back to her assembled garrison, her expression and tone having calmed significantly. "We cannot risk becoming involved, no matter who it is. Annael made her choice when she cast off her grace, and now she must reap the consequences. That she's been found as seals are being broken matters not at all."

A murmur of agreement_ (somewhat sad agreement, but agreement nonetheless)_ rippled through the others.

* * *

><p>The church was eerily quiet as they entered, the silence following them as they searched the lower rooms briefly before heading to the attic; upstairs, light streamed in through the stained glass, and Sam pointed towards a shadowed figure hiding at the far end of the large, dusty room.<p>

"Anna?" Sam called, putting away his gun. "We're not going to hurt you. We're here to help," he added as the brothers inched closer. "My name is Sam. This is my brother, Dean." He was about to continue when a small voice interrupted.

"Sam? Not Sam Winchester?"

Exchanging a puzzled look with Dean, Sam verified, "Uh, yeah."

The slender redhead came out, then, looking scared and worried. "And you're Dean. _The _Dean?"

Dean's eyebrows lifted slightly, and he said, "Well, yeah. The Dean, I guess." Sam resisted the urge to roll his eyes at the elder hunter's tone.

"It's really you. Oh, my god," she said, moving forward a bit, sounding a bit breathless. "The angels talk about you. You were in Hell, but Castiel pulled you out, and some of them think you can help save us. And some of them don't like you at all," she said tearing her eyes from Dean to address Sam. His expression turned slightly stoney. "They talk about you all the time lately. I feel like I know you."

Dean stared for a few seconds, then asked,"So, you talk to angels?"

"Oh, no. No, no way. Um, they probably don't even know I exist. I just kind of... _overhear _them."

Sam interjected, "You _overhear _them?"

"Yeah, they talk, and sometimes I just... hear them in my head." Anna glanced down, as if registering how absolutely crazy that sort of thing would sound to most people.

"Like... right now?" Dean asked.

"Not right this second, but a lot. And I can't shut them out, there are so many of them."

There was a brief pause, then Dean said, "So, they lock you up with a case of the crazies when really you were just... tuning in to angel radio?"

Anna blinked once, and looked quite suddenly relieved. "Yes. Thank you."

"Anna, when did the voices start? Do you remember?"

Anna looked towards Sam as he asked the question, and nodded. "I can tell you exactly - September 18th."

Both brothers stiffened slightly, and they exchanged a glance. "The day I got out of Hell."

Perhaps not noticing the tense moment, Anna said, "First words I heard, clear as a bell - "Dean Winchester is saved."" She said it in a reverent sort of way, then, almost as an aside, added, "They were singing. It was beautiful."

Swallowing thickly, Dean glanced at Sam and asked, "What do you think?"

"It's above my pay grade, man," Sam said with a little shake of his head.

Heaving a short sigh, Dean turned back to Anna. "Well, at least now we know why the demons want you so bad. They get a hold of you, they can hear everything the other side's cooking. You're 1-900-angel," he said with a little chuckle, making the girl's expression light up briefly.

"Hey, um, do you know - are my parents okay? I - I didn't go home. I was afraid."

Before they could determine a good way to answer that particular question, the door behind them burst open and Ruby rushed in. "You got the girl. Good, let's go."

"Oh! Her face!" Anna exclaimed, rushing backwards looking horrified.

Sam half turned, lifting a consoling hand towards the newly frightened girl. "It's okay. She's here to help."

"Yeah, don't be so sure," Dean muttered.

"We have to hurry," Ruby interrupted.

"Why?" snapped Dean.

"Because a demon's coming - big-timer. We can fight later, Dean."

"Well, that's pretty convenient - showing up right when we find the girl with some bigwig on your tail?" Dean countered as Anna looked on, trying to follow the argument without any real success.

"I didn't bring him here. You did."

"What?"

"He followed you from the girl's house. We got to go now."

"Dean," Sam said, interrupting the argument and pointing to a statue of Mary, which was crying tears of blood.

"It's too late. He's here," Ruby said, looking concerned. Dean stared at the statue as Sam rushed towards Anna, bustling her into a closet.

"Okay. Stay in there. Don't move," he said, closing the door on her whispered, "Okay."

Rushing back into the main room, Sam pulled out a flask of holy water, only to be stalled by Ruby.

"No, Sam, you got to pull him right away," she said.

Tearing his eyes from the statue, Dean growled, "Whoa, hold on a sec."

"Now's not the time to bellyache about Sam going darkside. He does his thing, he exorcises that demon, or we die," the demon said quite emphatically. Dean stared at her for a moment, then they both turned their eyes to Sam who stood slightly closer to the door than them both. Swallowing, the younger hunter put away the flask and turned to face the door just as it burst open.

A tall, somewhat older man entered wearing a well fitted sport coat and khaki's; the demon strolled in, dragging a finger through the dust on the railing as he approached. As he cleared the stairs, Sam lifted one hand and focused; the demon faltered a half-step, his eyes turning pure white and his hand rising to his throat. Coughing briefly as his eyes returned to normal, he chuckled a bit, and Sam lowered his hand; behind him, Ruby looked briefly panicked.

"That tickles. You don't have the juice to take me on, Sam," he drawled, before lifting a hand and yanking Sam through the air and sending him crashing through the railing and down the stairs.

Dean shifted his weight, then tried to hit the demon with his knife; the demon caught him by the wrist, and the two locked together. "Hello again, Dean," he said, spinning the startled hunter around and hurling him against a pillar. He rained down blows until Dean lost his grip on the demon-killing knife, and he grabbed the elder Winchester by the collar, forcing the weakened, bleeding human to look up.

"Come on, Dean. Don't you recognize me? Oh, I forgot - I'm wearing a pediatrician." He struck Dean again twice more. "But we were so close... in Hell," he punctuated his words with yet another punch, and when Dean looked back, his expression had gone cold.

"Alastair," Dean choked out, slightly dazed by the blows to the head. Alastair chuckled again, only to turn as Sam appeared rather suddenly, stabbing the demon in the chest with the magic knife while Dean dropped to the floor.

The demon grimaced slightly, but seemed otherwise unaffected as he threw Sam towards the middle of the attic, saying, "You're gonna have to try a whole lot harder than that, son."

Alastair turned away from them briefly, hand gripping the hilt of the knife embedded in his chest, and Sam scrambled over to Dean just as a rustle, accompanied by a flash of sparks as the few lightbulbs in the room exploded, announced the arrival of Ariel with wings already unfurled.

"Go," she shouted at the brothers, darting forward to put herself between them and the demon; Alastair ripped the knife out and turned with a feral sort of snarl.

"_You,_" he hissed, quite obviously, and suddenly, enraged, his whole countenance darkening as if he was oozing shadows. He was forced to duck as Ariel slashed at him with a gleaming silver sword, and Sam and Dean exchanged a look and then took the opportunity to turn and sprint towards the church window, diving through the glass.

* * *

><p>Dean was pacing as Sam stitched up the gash on his arm, the elder Winchester cradling his left arm carefully; his shoulder was dislocated, and every movement hurt, but he couldn't seem to stop the restless pacing.<p>

"Are you almost done?" he ground out.

"I'm going as fast as I can," muttered Sam, his face pulled into a strained grimace.

Dean picked up the bottle of whiskey from the TV stand and took a pull, saying, "Good, 'cause you know I got a dislocated shoulder over here."

"Yeah. I'll pop it back when I'm finished."

Sam cut off the extra thread, glancing at Dean, then said, "Gimme that," while gesturing for the bottle. He poured a little over his freshly stitched cut, gasping in pain.

Dean watched, wincing sympathetically, then said, "So, you lost the magic knife, huh?"

"Yeah, saving your ass," snarked back Sam, though his voice was a bit hoarse. "Who the hell _was _that demon?"

"No one good," murmured Dean. There was a ragged sort of rustle, and suddenly Ariel was in the room with them. It was _not _a typical, near-silent angelic entrance.

She appeared off to Dean's side, almost directly in front of Sam, near the partition between the door and the rest of the room, and the angel staggered, knees buckling; her right arm flew up and gripped the partition as she sagged, and Sam and Dean were frozen in shock even as blood spattered out against the wall from her suddenly halted momentum.

* * *

><p><em>Cliffhanger. Yeah, I know that was cruel, but this chapter was getting long and I'd been planning to end this chapter this way before writers block anyway. Hit that little review button and tell me what you think.<em>


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